What's Love Got To Do With It?
by Kay Em2
Summary: A postwar surprise leads to a wedding but will it be happily ever after? COMPLETE. Reviews welcome
1. Surprises

_Disclaimer: The characters, alas, are not mine. They belong to Fox. But once I got the idea, I just had to write it down.  By the way, spelling is in English English (not American English), 'cos that's where I am and that's how I write. Constructive feedback and comments welcome! Thanks._

**What's love got to do with it?**

**By Kay Em**

**September 1953. Denver, Colorado**

Charles Emerson Winchester III emerged from the Hotel's auditorium feeling triumphant. His presentation had gone well, he'd fielded the questions with aplomb, been rewarded with a warm ovation, and had already received an invitation from the Walter Reed medical facility to give a similar talk in Washington DC..

"Fine lecture, Doctor Winchester."  A distinguished-looking gentleman in a Yale tie shook his hand. "Perhaps you'd do us the honour of giving a talk at our medical school some time?"

"Ye-e-e-s. Some time. Perhaps," said Charles, biting back his initial retort that nothing could possibly induce him to set foot on the Yale campus. He had the impression that Mr Yale was about to attempt to press him further, when rescue came from a completely unexpected quarter.

"Hey, Charles! Neat speech!"

"Yeah, loved the bit where you actually gave some credit to your ol' buddies in the 4077th. I nearly broke into spontaneous applause!"

"Pierce. Hunnicutt. I don't believe it. What in the name of Hippocrates are you doing here?"

"It's a medical conference, right? We're medics, where else would we be but catching up on the latest...ah..."

"...latrichium treatments," finished BJ, drawing a grin from Charles. That had been a pretty inspired moment even for him - inventing an entire organ, giving it an imaginary disease, and then treating it.

"Wonder where that wretched Mutual Funds salesman is now?" he mused.

"See?" said BJ to Hawkeye, "Told you he'd give us a smile!  That'll be ten dollars, please."  He extended a hand and a peeved-looking Hawkeye slapped a ten-dollar bill into it.

"Tell me you didn't come all this way just to settle a bet?" said Charles, "Surely even you two couldn't be that dumb?"

"Thanks, Charles, we missed you too."

"Yeah. Don't know about you, Beej, but I wish we hadn't bothered to book that table for lunch now."

"Actually, I'm supposed to be eating here," said Charles, as they led him across the foyer and away from the restaurant, "Though I confess the Quail en Croute was something of a disappointment yesterday.  Where are we heading, exactly?"

"Only across the street," said BJ, pointing at the Metropolitan Hotel as they exited The Grand. "Hawk and I only registered last week, so we got put in the overspill accommodation."

"How come you got to be a guest speaker anyway, Charles? You've only been home for six weeks or so!"

"Oh, the Conference sent a delegation to meet me at the airport when I got off the plane in Boston," he said, airily, "Said they'd heard I was back in the States, and all but begged me to fill their last vacant speakers slot."  He waited a moment while envy, disgust and incredulity registered on their faces, before admitting: "Actually, that's not strictly true. One of my colleagues was supposed to be giving a talk, but he came off his motorbike three weeks ago and broke his knee. Which is why I'm here instead."

"That explains why your name didn't show up on my Conference literature till last week," said Hawkeye. He grinned. "If it hadn't, my wife would never have insisted that we meet BJ here!"

"Your... what?" spluttered Charles, as Hawkeye led the way across the Metropolitan's lobby. He had no time to say more before the door to the Restaurant swung open in front of him and he saw a familiar figure waving from a table in the corner. "Margaret?" he said. He stopped, turned to Hawkeye. "You and she...?"

"Yeah."  Hawkeye had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry we didn't invite you, Charles, but we kind of took ourselves by surprise. Even BJ wasn't there."

"Which explains why we're all here," said BJ, "Belated wedding breakfast."

"But that's marvellous!" said Charles, shaking Hawkeye vigorously by the hand, "My congratulations.  BJ - I believe you owe me $20?"

"What?" said Hawkeye, "Wait a minute..."

Charles gathered his winnings from BJ and made his way across to Margaret. He kissed her on the cheek, then smiled. "Oh, the hell with it," he said, and gave her a scorching kiss on the lips.

"Hey, do you mind?"  Hawkeye's protesting tones were accompanied by a firm tap on the shoulder. Charles could feel Margaret's smile against his mouth, and kissed her harder as he felt her arms slide around his neck.

"Charles? Charles, will you put her down, please?"

It was no use, he was laughing too hard to continue the teasing, and he pulled away from the new Mrs Pierce, grinning.

"I don't believe you!" Hawkeye complained, "First you have the nerve to bet on our wedding, and then you start making love to my wife. And in public too!"

Charles blushed a little and straightened his tie as he realised the other restaurant clientele were staring.

"Bet on our wedding?" said Margaret, as the men sat down. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we all saw that kiss you gave each other before we went our separate ways," says Charles, reaching for the wine menu, "BJ's probably told you that he and I ended up on the same plane out of Tokyo, but I guess he failed to mention our little wager. I said you two would be married within six months."

"And I said it would take at least twelve," said BJ, holding up the menu as a shield as Margaret looked around for something to throw. "Charles, you're covered in lipstick."

"I'll bet!" smirked Charles, wiping his mouth with his hanky and examining the evidence. "Now I know how you got your nickname," he said to Margaret, "Wow!"

"Look, never mind with the 'wow'," said Hawkeye, "Just... pick us out a decent wine and shut up!"

"Ah, Pierce - from Romeo to Othello in so short a time," said Charles. He began to peruse the wine list, noting with a certain amount of surprise that there were some half-decent vintages on offer. He glanced over at the piano in the corner as someone began to play a light jazz piece, looked back at the menu - then registered who the pianist was, and jerked his gaze back to check he was right. "Ellie!" he gasped.

"Did someone around here mention Romeo?" murmured BJ, folding the menu and passing it across to Margaret.

"Hey, it _is_ her," said Margaret, "You remember, Hawk - she was with that troupe of USO entertainers who had that terrible comedian."

"And an appendicitis case with a crush on her surgeon," remembered BJ. "Eleanor was the one who played the accordion, wasn't she? I didn't realise she played the piano too."

"Oh, didn't you hear about her playing in the Officers' Club then?" said Margaret, "She got Charles' attention with some classical piece..."

"It was from Beethoven's _Sonata Pathétique_, actually," muttered Charles.

"...And then got the whole place dancing with _Roll out the Barrel_."   Margaret smiled. "I heard it from Kellye - she was dancing with Charles."

"You?" said BJ, staring at Charles as though seeing him for the first time, "You danced round the Officers' Club?"

"With nurse Kellye?" added Hawkeye, "Boy, I wish I'd seen that!"

"I'm so glad you didn't."  Charles smiled with relief as the waiter came over to take their order. The conversation had been heading towards dangerous waters - even if the other three hadn't realised it - and he was glad of the interruption. Much more of that line, and someone might just have remembered that he'd run to OR the next morning from the direction of the Supply room - and escorted Ellie to breakfast the day after that from the same direction.

"I'll have the lamb cutlets," he said. "Nice to have a decent choice, isn't it? Remember those awful cold cuts we got for breakfast, in the middle of all that rain?"

"Or that congealed grease masquerading as mashed potato?" put in BJ.

"And if I never see another helping of powdered egg, it will be too soon," said Hawkeye.

Charles sat back, content that his change of subject had put Ellie out of their minds. But she hadn't disappeared from his. As they ate and chatted, he couldn't help glancing in her direction. Her hair was a little shorter, he thought, and she was wearing a touch more make-up, but she was just as attractive as he remembered.

Intent on her playing, she appeared not to have noticed him, and he was not sure whether he minded that or not. While he was deciding, she finally looked his way at the same time as he was looking at her - and he smothered a smile as he heard her hit a wrong note. She covered it well and he doubted anyone else had even noticed, but it had definitely been there. She remembered him then.

"Charles. Just go talk to the girl," Hawkeye said, gesturing in Ellie's direction.

"I wasn't..."

"Oh yes you were," said BJ.

"Charles, you've been staring at her so hard you didn't even notice your tie was in your gravy," said Margaret.

He looked down. Four inches of expensive grey silk nestled cosily on his plate next to the remains of his cutlets, sucking up sauce.  "Oh damn," he muttered, pulling the dripping end clear and mopping it with a napkin.

He stole another glance in Ellie's direction. She had put her head down and he thought at first that she was trying not to laugh; but then something about the way she was playing made him look again. She was rushing the piece, sliding the notes together, apparently trying to get it over with as quickly as possible. And when she finished and looked back at him, he realised she was not laughing but fighting tears.

She didn't wait to acknowledge the smatter of applause from the restaurant patrons, but rushed straight off the little platform and out of the door behind her.

"You going to just sit there?" said BJ.

One look at their three expectant faces told Charles there was no point lingering for an argument - not that he really wanted to.  Throwing down the napkin, he strode across the room and out through the door that was still swinging slightly from Ellie's exit. He was just in time to catch sight of a door closing to at the end of the corridor.

"Ellie!" he called, breaking into a brief jog, "Ellie!" He knocked, called her name again.  "Eleanor, open the door. Please?"

"Please go away, Charles - I can't see you, I can't!"

"But you must! I have to know what I've done to upset you so."

There was no reply, and he leaned against the doorjamb for a moment while he pondered what to say.

"Ellie - I'll call for reinforcements if I have to. We'll camp out here till you come out - or you let me in. I don't care which!"

The silence went on for so long that he wondered whether he might have to actually follow through on his threat and fetch the others. But after what seemed an eternity, he heard her say, quietly, "All right."

A moment later, the lock turned and she opened the door just enough to peek out at him. "Just remember that I didn't want to do this, Charles. Not like this."  She stepped back and he pushed the door open, followed her inside...

And stopped dead, feeling as though some invisible force had just hit him in the chest.

In front of Ellie, sitting in an easy chair beside a neatly-made bed, was Brandy Doyle. On her lap was a baby.

A baby that - save for the pink dress - looked just like his little brother Timmy.

Charles groped for the edge of the bed, lowered himself onto it, all the time staring at the child.

"How... how old is she?" As though he really needed to ask. 

"Six months, next Tuesday."

He switched his gaze to look up at Ellie. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was low, a little husky.

Before she answered him, she took the baby from the other woman, saying: "I need to talk to him, Brandy - please?"

With a last glare in Charles' direction, the older woman got up and left, muttering something about 'doctors' under her breath as she did so. Ellie waited till the door was shut before sitting herself down beside Charles and resting the baby on her lap.

"Charles, sweetheart, you're richer than a small third world country. What was I going to write you? 'Dear Charles, I'm having your child, please send money'?"  She shook her head, kissed the baby, who looked up at her and smiled. "I couldn't do that."

Charles reached across to take one of the child's hands gently in his, a smile touching his lips as tiny fingers gripped his. "You didn't think I had a right to know?"

"I was going to get in touch - I've got a couple recitals pencilled in for Boston next month," she said, "I just couldn't tell you right away, not without proving that I could manage..." She choked to a halt, and Charles tentatively put an arm across her shoulders.  She didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," he said, at a loss to know what else to say, where to start making this right.

"I'm not. I wouldn't be without her for worlds."

"What's her name?"

 "Elizabeth Charlotte. Like it?"

 He nodded. "It's beautiful."

 "She's the image of you, isn't she?"

 "Actually, she looks just like Timmy. First thing I noticed when I walked in." It occurred to him that it was - in a way - Timmy's small shadow that had led to this. Ellie and her colleagues had arrived not long after a sniper had put a bullet through his cap, triggering memories of how he had felt when his brother died. When he and Ellie had left the Officers' Club they'd taken a walk and somehow, in the search for privacy, had ended up in the Supply Room. Ellie had asked why he kept laughing at Freddie's terrible jokes, and Charles had confessed that he thought it might be a reaction to what had happened the previous week. He'd tried to explain, while she'd listened and held him, and then gently kissed him.  And he'd kissed her back, and for a little while he'd forgotten all about war and horror and death. Next day, there had been an endless procession of wounded to attend to in OR, but Ellie had been waiting for him when at last he'd put the final stitch in place, and they'd found their way to the seclusion of the Supply room again.

"So," said Ellie, bringing his thoughts back to the present, "What happens now?"

*          *            *            *            *

Through the glass panel set into the door, Charles could see that his friends were still waiting for him in the restaurant, a sea of coffee cups testifying to the time they had spent there.

Charles raised a hand, with the intention of buttoning his collar and straightening his tie, then let the hand drop, knowing that the others wouldn't care how dishevelled he looked.  They cared about _him_. When his parents had told him to mix only with The Right People, Pierce, Hunnicutt and Margaret were not what they had had in mind. But - although he'd never admit it to them - they were some of the rightest people he knew. They'd tease him unmercifully when he told them about Ellie's little surprise package, but, unlike the cream of Boston Society, they wouldn't judge him, blame him or ostracise him. They were _there_. They would understand.

He opened the door and went across to them. 

"Did you find her?"

"Is she okay?"

"Are _you_ okay?"

BJ poured a glass of wine for him and he took a long draught from it before he responded to their questioning. 

"Eleanor's doing fine," he said, "I'm not sure about me." He looked over toward the door, where he had asked Ellie to wait, nodded to her to come over. "She came back from Korea with something to remember me by."

There was a moment of stunned silence, followed - as he had anticipated - by several minutes of ribbing and smart remarks ("Wasn't it you who said people shouldn't practice licence without a medicine?" Hawkeye immediately quipped) while Ellie sat down beside him, cuddling Beth.

"Oh, she's so _cute_," said Margaret, "May I hold her, Eleanor?"

"Sure."  Ellie passed the infant across the table, and Margaret immediately left off teasing Charles and started cooing over the baby. Hawkeye began to tease Margaret, leaving it to BJ to switch back to serious mode first.

"Charles - what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do the right thing," he said, putting a hand over Ellie's where it rested on the table, "Ellie and Beth are going to come back to Boston with me. Ellie took a little persuading, but I've managed to talk her into marrying me - for Elizabeth's sake if not her own."

"Charles, I thought you swore off doing the honourable thing after you refused to lie about me for Colonel Baldwin, and lost your chance to get posted back to Tokyo," said Margaret. The look on her face bore the same mixture of respect and admiration she'd had that night in the Officers' Club. Just as it had then, it helped - just a little - to make him feel better.

By now, Hawkeye had switched to being serious too. "Charles, how are your parents going to react?"

Charles had been trying not to think about that. "I don't know, Hawkeye," he said, "I just don't know."

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Confessions and invitations

_Many thanks for the kind reviews so far! Here's Part 2..._

September 1953. Boston, Mass. 

Charles did his unpacking himself, partly from the habit of having to fend for himself in Korea, but mostly because he wanted to postpone the evil moment for as long as possible. Eventually though, showered and changed, he could put it off no longer. "'Tell us what you did today, Charles'," he muttered, checking his tie in front of the mirror, "'Tell us what you did'."

His parents were in the drawing-room, talking with Honoria about arrangements for the forthcoming dinner party at the Emersons. Charles responded politely to their queries about the conference while he crossed the room to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a scotch. He took a couple of large swallows and several deep breaths before turning to face them.

"Actually," he said, with a forced casualness that belied his thumping heart, "I... uh... I met someone in Denver."

"Oh?" Honoria visibly perked up, and he realised he was grateful that she was here. After her own doomed romance, there was a chance she might be a little more accepting than mother and dad. Ah well, only one way to find out…

"Yes. Well – that is – met them _again_ – met _her_ again."

"Charles," said Honoria, "You're b... babbling."

"So would you!" he snapped, instantly regretting it. "Sorry, Honoria, it's just..." He put his glass down on the table and metaphorically rushed the gate: "Look – I met Eleanor last year in Korea. She was with a troupe of USO entertainers – you know, doing their bit for morale? Eleanor's a very accomplished singer and pianist and..."

"She had a piano?" This from his father.

"Not in Korea, father, no – it would have been a little impractical. She had –" he gulped "- an accordion."

Honoria was grinning, but his mother was turning puce. Not good, not good at all, but he was too far down the road to stop now.

"I ran into some of my ex-MASH colleagues in Denver, and we went for lunch at their hotel. And Eleanor was in the lounge playing the piano."

"I assume there's a reason you're telling us all this, Charles?" His mother's voice had that dangerous, icy edge to it that signalled Trouble, but it was a little late to worry about that.

Charles picked up his glass and swallowed the rest of his scotch. "Certainly is, mother. I... I have asked her to marry me, and she has accepted."

His mother got to her feet and moved across to replace her own empty sherry glass on the cocktail cabinet. "Really, Charles, don't be ridiculous! Honoria's choice was bad enough, but at least Luigi had money in his favour. This girl is obviously a common little gold-digger, and you should have more sense!"

Charles closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his forehead. Now for it! "No, mother, if she was a gold-digger she would have kept in touch with me last year, after she got back from Korea. You see, she... uh... she had a child." As he spoke, he pulled a photograph Ellie had given him from his jacket pocket, and held it out for her to see.

Honoria was staring at him open-mouthed; his father's stony expression was completely unreadable. He didn't see the slap from his mother coming till her palm connected with his cheek.

"You fool, Charles!" she blazed, "How could you be so stupid? A _showgirl_ for God's sake! Well, don't even think about marrying her. You must pay for the child, of course – she's obviously yours – but a wedding? Out of the question. Don't mention this ever again." She looked at his father. "_You_ tell him, Charles."

Charles Emerson Winchester II drained his bourbon and got to his feet. "Charles," he said, shaking his head, "How could you let this happen? I am _so_ disappointed with you." He took a breath as though to say more, but Charles had heard enough. More than enough.

"You're disappointed?" he said, slowly and softly, "Dad, when have you ever been anything else? I've spent my whole _life_ trying to please you, trying you live up to your standards, your expectations, your... _my_ name. I know you only ever wanted the best for me, but you wanted the best _from_ me too, and without ever _once_ giving me credit or praise for anything I did. I asked you – I _begged_ you – to get me out of Korea, but no, you left me there because you thought it would be 'character-building'. Dad, I spent every hour of every day for nearly two years being scared for my life. I've operated in the dark in a room that was being shaken apart by artillery fire; I've been shot at, humiliated, threatened and assaulted. I've had to tend patients in a cave because it was the only safe place to be. I've seen boys of eighteen turned inside out by artillery shells and had to try to put them back together by candlelight." He realised he was shouting, and took a moment to draw breath and unclench his fists before adding, quietly: "And you're disappointed with me because in the middle of all the blood and the fear and the dying I _needed_ someone? Well, I'm sorry about that." He threw the photograph onto the table. "But I cannot be sorry about her." He made for the door, paused for a moment before he opened it. "In case either of you is interested, her name is Elizabeth."

Returning to his room, he pulled out the case he had emptied only a short while before and started packing it again. Honoria joined him a few minutes later, still looking stunned. "Oh, Charles..." She threw her arms around him and he hugged her tight. "Where are you going, your t...t...town house?"

"The apartment, I think, tonight at least." He let her go, continued with his packing. "I know I shouldn't have said all that. Once I got started, I just couldn't seem to stop."

She gave him a knowing smile. "I suppose that's w...what happened with Eleanor too, is it?"

"Honoria!"

She passed him a pile of shirts. "Are you absolutely sure about m...marrying this girl, Charles? I mean – m...mother's right, you know, you could just offer to p...pay for the child."

"Honoria, why do you think Ellie didn't contact me about the baby? She doesn't want my money! It was only by chance that I ran across her in Denver – and even then all she asked was that I give her enough to get Beth a decent schooling."

"S...so?"

"So, I refuse to be just a footnote in my child's life! You've only got to look at her to see she's a Winchester, don't you think she deserves to have my name?. I pointed out a few home truths to Ellie, about the likelihood of Beth getting taunted at school, her chances of getting into a half-decent establishment in the first place if she has only a single parent – and the more I talked, the more I realised there was only one possible solution. And the more I thought about _that_, the less I minded." He continued to talk as he went through to his bathroom to collect his toothbrush and toiletries, reappeared a moment later. "You think I haven't noticed how you and mother keep manoeuvring all those single Society girls my way? Honoria, they are..." He dropped his after-shave bottle on the bed, gestured helplessly as he sought the right phrase, "They're so _inane. _Half of them don't even know there's been a war in Korea, and the ones who do have no idea where Korea is, and don't care! When they talk to me, it's about the sort of worthless stuff I used to think was important – whether the seating order at dinner is correct, whether I think Jefferson Rowe's horse has a chance of winning at Saratoga... The truth is, I don't care about _anything_ any of them have to say. At least Ellie has some idea what I went through out there. She's also funny, and smart, and talented – and the mother of my child. I _like_ her, Honoria. I have to at least try to do the right thing by her."

"Alright, big brother." Honoria touched his arm to signal a truce. "But Charles, if she plays the p...piano... you're not going to yell at her like you did with mother, are you?"

Charles sat down on the bed, clasped his hands in front of him. "I don't know," he said, "She was playing jazz in the restaurant, I could take that. Maybe I'll pitch myself in at the deep end and take her to a concert or something."

"Kill or cure?"

"Please – don't say 'kill'."

"Still not going to t...tell me about it?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Alright, treat me like a child if you must, b...but you know you have to t...tell Ellie, don't you? If you _are_ going to m...marry her, you're going to have to b...be upfront with her."

Charles could almost hear Pierce's voice saying "_Being 'up front' with her is what got him into this,"_ and he couldn't help but smile.

"What? W...What did I say?"

"Nothing." He got to his feet, checked he'd got everything he needed.

She gave an exasperated sigh, but didn't pursue it. Instead she surprised him by saying: "Eleanor and my niece - can I meet them?"

"Yes, of course, if you want to. They're at the Hilton."

"Hmm, neutral t...territory. Okay, I'll call you tomorrow and fix up a t...time."

He bent to kiss her goodbye, snapped the cases shut and carried them out to his car. As he slammed the trunk shut, he looked back at the house – and found himself remembering something Hawkeye had said during those long conversations they had had about fathers and sons, while waiting for news of Dr Pierce senior. "Damn it," he muttered. He looked at his watch. 7.20pm. Turning around, he walked back into the house, opened the dining-room door and found his parents exactly where he knew they would be: seated at the table staring at their soup course. "There's one other thing I need to tell you before I go," he said, not moving from the doorway, and wondering why 'I love you' was so difficult to say.

"I think you've said quite enough already, Charles," said his mother.

"I just wanted to say..." He recalled Hawkeye's words at the service for Millie Carpenter, took a deep breath and moistened his lips, "That... that the rules aren't the same in a war zone."

He turned around and slowly walked away.

* * *

"Elizabeth," said Charles, lifting the baby tenderly from Ellie's arms and lowering her onto Honoria's lap, "Meet your aunt Honoria."

"Oh, Charles, she's adorable! Eleanor, there's a little p... present for her in that bag, if you could just... Thanks." Ellie passed the bag across the coffee table and Honoria pulled a pink rabbit out of it, which Beth promptly made a grab for.

"It's nearly as big as she is," said Ellie, "Thanks, Honoria. You're... being very kind." She looked at Charles. "You both are."

The formal remark sounded awkward, and there was a rather strained silence for a moment, till Honoria said, a little over-brightly, "Have you found t...time to do much shopping yet, Eleanor?"

No, I haven't really been out much. There's Beth to look after, and I really don't know Boston very well so..."

"Oh, but I'll be happy to show you around," said Honoria, "I can steer you in the direction of all the buh... best shops. If we can't find anything you w...want in central Boston, we'll go over to Harvard Square."

"And if you'd just agree to taking on that Nanny I suggested," said Charles, "You wouldn't have to worry about taking Beth with you."

Ellie shook her head, more in doubt than rejection. "I don't know, Charles. I never left her with anyone but Brandy, and then it was only while I played my little recitals. And I'm still not comfortable with the idea of spending your money." Though she had to admit it was not unpleasant having a luxury suite at the Boston Hilton; and if she was going to marry Charles – something she was still ambivalent about if truth be known – she ought to know her way around Boston at least. So – "Alright, I would appreciate your showing me round, Honoria." She smiled. "So far, I've had whistle-stop tours of the Museum of Fine Arts, the Old State House, Boston Mercy, and Symphony Hall."

"Which I have promised to take her to next Saturday evening for the Beethoven concert," said Charles. "Which means we will have to have someone to look after Beth by then anyway."

"Yes but..." Ellie sighed. After all, it _would_ be nice to have some time off now and then, especially with Brandy still in Colorado. "I don't want a full-time nanny," she said, firmly, "Beth is my responsibility."

"And mine," said Charles, firmly.

" – and I'll take care of her as much as I can. But – okay, a couple hours a day, I guess. It would be nice to have some 'me' time."

"Good," said Charles, "I'll ask Mrs Brunson if she can start tomorrow."

"Tell her to come for 10.00," said Honoria, "And then I can call round for Eleanor at t...ten-thirty once she's got things organised."

"Wait – hang on a second. You already had someone all lined up?" said Ellie, indignantly, "Who the hell – pardon me – who on earth is this lady, and why should I trust her to look after my daughter when I've never even met her? Don't I get any say in this?" She scooped Beth up off Honoria's knee as she spoke and gave her a kiss.

"I'm sorry," said Charles, "I was trying to – I suppose I was trying to make up for lost time and take some of the parental worry off your hands."

Ellie gave him a look that he was already beginning to recognise as meaning that he wasn't quite forgiven but she'd give it some thought. "Mrs Brunson looked after us when we were small," he said.

"She's the one who d...dropped Charles on his head," said Honoria, wryly, drawing a giggle from Ellie. "And given that she's semi-retired now, I'm sure p...part-time hours will suit her just as well as you."

Beth was beginning to fuss and fret, and Honoria took it as her cue to leave. "Remember – I'll pick you up at t…ten-thirty," she said to Ellie, giving Beth a parting kiss and a wave. "And if that noise m...means she needs feeding, let _him_ do it!"

"As a matter of fact, I do know how to feed a baby," said Charles, shutting the door after his sister and wandering back into the main room, "Apart from my paediatric training, we had a half-Korean infant left outside the Swamp one night, and we practically fought over her. Colonel Potter pulled rank to give her a medical exam, I remember."

"What happened to her? Did she go to that orphanage with Father Mulcahy?"

"No." Charles picked up the phone and called room service for a bottle of warm infant-formula milk and some rusks, before he went on with the story.

"Poor kid," said Ellie, when he had finished, "What an awful way for her to have to grow up."

"I know. But we just couldn't find another way."

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Beth's milk, and Ellie went to fetch it. "I have to admit this is a hell of a lot easier than mixing the stuff myself," she said, handing him both baby and bottle to see whether he really could – would – feed her. "But it's still all a bit… well, strange."

"Don't expect me to make a habit of this," said Charles, "And don't tell anyone else about it, will you?"

"Not even Honoria?"

"Especially not Honoria! I'd never hear the last of it! This is being done solely to prove the veracity of my boast."

"Uh-huh. That would certainly explain the proud paternal smile. You really love her, don't you?"

The beautiful blue eyes that had been her undoing in Korea turned to look into hers. "You didn't seriously think I wouldn't?"

"I had no idea how you'd react," she said, as their gazes locked, "We really don't know each other very well, Charles." Suddenly flustered, she looked away, steadied the bottle he was holding.

"I know," he said, quietly, "I feel I should be spending more time with you – with both of you – to get to know you better. But I can't just drop everything..."

"It's okay, I understand. At least you _want_ to get to know me. That's got to be good, right? And I'll be getting to know more about you from Honoria."

"Hmm, I'm not sure about that idea. I think perhaps I'll call her and postpone your little expedition until I've had a little more time to talk to you myself."

"Don't you dare, Charles Winchester! You know, I wasn't very keen on this outing, but I'm really beginning to warm up to it. Just don't expect me to buy anything, okay?"

"Not even for Beth?" Those eyes were looking into hers again, this time with an unmistakeable twinkle. She was going to have to find a way to resist them.

Just, perhaps, not right now.

"Okay," she conceded, "Maybe something for Beth."

* * *

Charles had not had an easy morning. A scheduled operation had proved to be trickier than anticipated, he'd had to confirm a diagnosis of cancer in a woman not much older than himself, there was a stack of files and reports to go through before he got anywhere near his afternoon appointments, and he somehow had to find time to do rounds with some of the interns before he could even think of going home.

And his day was just about to get more difficult.

"Oh, I have that number for you, Doctor," said his secretary, as he collected the files he needed from her desk and started through to his office, "Doctor Potter. Shall I put the call through for you?"

"No, no – I'll do it," he said, taking the piece of paper she was proferring. "Uh – thanks. Bring me a coffee through, will you?"

Shutting his office door with his foot, he dropped the files and notes he was carrying onto his desk and tugged the note with Potter's phone number free from the pile.

He sat down, rubbed his eyes, and slowly sipped the coffee that Miss Walters brought him. He toyed with the idea of dealing with his 'in' tray before calling the Colonel, but he knew he really shouldn't put it off any longer.

He lifted the receiver, dialled.

"Colonel? I mean..."

"Doctor Winchester! As I live 'n' breathe! Didn't think I'd be hearing from you, son." Charles heard the other man's voice become muffled: "Mildred! One of the boys on the line – how's about that? No – the other one..." The line crackled, presumably signalling that Potter had removed his hand from the receiver. "So, to what do I owe the honour, Winchester? Presume you ain't just callin' to say how-de-do and chew the fat?"

Sometimes, the old boy caught on remarkably quickly, thought Charles. "Ah, yes indeed sir. I was wondering... Are you doing anything on 24th October? No? Good! Well, the fact of the matter is I – er – I need a Best Man."

"Best...? As in wedding? Hot diggedy! You didn't waste much time, boy. Which of the Beacon Hill beauties is the lucky lady?"

"Actually, uh...Sherman, it's – ah – someone I met in Korea. You may remember we had a visit last year from the USO?"

"Hell, yes, I remember. You telling me it's one of those girls? Didn't think any of 'em would have been your type, Charles."

"Yes, well, as it happens, Eleanor – she was the one with the accordion? – Ellie's an extremely talented pianist, and I think – I hope – we have a lot of things in common."

"You _hope_? You sure you ain't rushing in to this, son?"

Charles bit his lip and paused for a moment before replying.

"Charles? Winchester, you still there?"

He sighed. "Yes, I'm just – er – that is... The thing is, Colonel, that when I ran into Ellie by chance a few days ago, I discovered that we already have rather more in common that I'd suspected. The name of our little 'common interest' is: Elizabeth Charlotte."

"Elizabeth Ch... Jumpin' Jehosophat! Charles, you telling me you've got a baby?"

"Somewhat to my surprise, sir – yes."

"Huh! So much for the mumps!"

That remark made the corners of Charles' lips twitch despite himself. He had forgotten how worried he'd been about that bout of mumps affecting his fertility. "Indeed. Anyway, I've persuaded Ellie that we should get married, so – as I said, I require a Best Man, and I wondered whether you...?"

"I'd be honoured. By the way, how's your family with this?"

"If you could keep the weekend of 24th free, sir, I'd appreciate it," said Charles, choking on an answer to the question. "I'll send you all the details and tickets for the flight. I... really appreciate your doing this, sir."

* * *

On Saturday morning, Charles phoned Ellie to say he wouldn't be over to see her till the afternoon, as he had been called in on an emergency.

"Guess I'd better get used to it, huh?" she said, when he'd explained.

But he had already hung up.

He made up for it that afternoon, arriving with flowers and a box of Wallingford and Chadwick's finest chocolates, plus a squeaky toy for Beth, who seized it with joy and promptly started chewing on it.

"How's the patient?" asked Ellie, while he poured himself a drink.

"He'll be alright," he said, "It wasn't easy though."

"I don't suppose you get called in for the easy ones."

"No. One of the burdens of greatness, I'm afraid."

"That is _so_ arrogant!"

"I prefer to think of it as a fact of life," he said, with a shrug, "I _am_ a brilliant surgeon. I'm a mediocre piano player, I don't suppose I could hit a baseball if my life depended upon it, and when under fire I am a total coward. I'm not without flaws, Ellie – it's just that surgery isn't one of them."

"_With people of limited ability, modesty is merely honesty. But with those who possess great talent it is hypocrisy," _quoted Ellie.

"Diogenes?" guessed Charles, obviously impressed.

"Schopenhauer. They didn't just teach us music at Juilliard, you know." In truth, she'd looked it up a little more recently than that. But no point in letting Charles know that.

"At least you're making use of their piano lessons now, rather than toting that ridiculous squeezebox around," he said, putting down his glass and glancing around."By the way – where _is _the wretched thing? Didn't you bring it with you?"

"I don't have it any more," she said, kneeling down beside her daughter, "I had to sell it when..." A shrug, "Hospital bills, you know?"

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not – you hated it!"

"I meant..."

She nodded. "I know what you meant." Beth was still trying to eat the squeaky toy, and Ellie took it away from her, which brought on a flood of tears. Ellie offered her the teething ring instead, but she didn't want it and threw it onto the carpet, wailing louder than ever.

Charles broke first, moving across to scoop the child up, and attempting to quieten her by taking her for a walk around the room. When that didn't work, he bent down for the toy he'd bought her and squeaked it, teasingly out of her reach. Beth's reaction was to be sick on his shoulder.

"Oh no!" Ellie jumped up, took Beth from him and wiped her mouth. "Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry!" She couldn't help but laugh though at the look on his face.

"I suppose I should have taken my jacket off first," he said, removing it now and holding it at arms length.

"I think she's tired," said Ellie, "She wouldn't settle down after her lunch. I'll pop her down again now, see if she'll go off."

When she returned from Beth's room, it was to find Charles handing his jacket and tie to a bell-hop, with instructions to have them ready before midnight. Shutting the door, he leaned back against it, hands in pockets. "Second tie I've had to have cleaned this week," he said. "So - getting back to Juilliard. You never told me how you got from there to Korea."

She shrugged, started to pick Beth's toys up off the floor. "I never made it to graduation. When my dad died, mom couldn't afford to keep me there, even on a scholarship. So I had to leave and start earning my keep. Then momma passed on too, and I hooked up with Marina because she could sing, and we did okay. We'd never have got rich, but we managed, and we kinda looked out for each other, you know?" He looked blank, so she elaborated: "It made us safer from unwanted advances, being two of us?"

"Oh. And what about – uh – 'wanted' advances?"

"Yeah, well, till you came along there weren't too many of those." He looked relieved, and she had a feeling there was more to that than met the eye. "Afraid I might have some skeletons in my closet?" she teased, putting the toys in their box.

He half-smiled, but she noticed that his eyes went sad and dreamy. "Something like that."

"What was her name?"

"I... what?"

"The girl with the dark secrets. Who was she?"

"How did you...?" He shook his head. "It really doesn't matter now."

"You loved her?"

"Yes. I did. But it was never going to work. And it's hardly fair to talk about her when I'm here with you." He took the toy box from her, looked around. "Where does this live?"

"In the corner over there. Charles?"

"Yes?"

She sat down, brushed her hair out of her eyes. "If it matters to you, I truly don't have a very colourful past." He came and sat next to her and she toyed with the collar of his shirt. "About the most disreputable thing I ever did was to get pregnant by some doctor I liked in Korea."

This time, the smile reached his eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have even tried to ask."

"No, it's okay."

"And I interrupted you. You didn't finish telling me how you got to Korea in the first place."

"Not much to tell there," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Marina saw an advert for the USO and talked me into signing up. We met Brandy and Freddie Nichols and decided to team up. Sarah joined us just before we flew out to Tokyo. I was hoping I might make enough money to finish my studies but..."

Charles looked at her, guiltily and took one of her hands in his. "I'm sorry. I really messed up your life, didn't I?"

"I told you, Charles, I'm not sorry I had Beth. Stop blaming yourself – it wasn't _entirely_ your fault you know! There were two of us in that supply room, did you get the impression that either of us was an unwilling partner?"

He smiled at that. "Hardly."

"Then put the brakes on the guilt trip, Winchester."

"I'll try." He squeezed her hand. "By the way, I bought you something." He stood up and went to the table where he had put the things he'd taken out of his jacket, returned with a small velvet-covered box in his hand.

"Is that what I think it is? You bought me a ring?" She hadn't given any thought to it herself, and was touched that he had.

"Of course I have," he said, opening the box. "I hope it fits."

"Oh my! It's... beautiful! Is it white gold?" Ellie gasped.

"Platinum," he said, "I thought it set off the sapphires rather well."

"Yeah, and the diamonds too." She looked up at him as he slid the ring onto her finger.. "Did Honoria know about this?"

"I did ask her advice about it, yes," he said, "How did you guess?"

"She talked me into buying a new dress for the concert this evening and, strangely enough, it happens to be sapphire blue."

"I look forward to seeing it," he said, "Right now though, I want to hear more about Juilliard. Tell me, did you study with William Schuman?"

"Wait, I'll open the chocolates," she said, "Then we can talk."

* * *

He left at half past five when Mrs Brunson arrived, allowing Ellie time to get ready. She was all nerves when Charles returned to collect her at 7.15, but when she opened the door and heard his intake of breath she relaxed a little.

"You look..." He groped for the right word, "Stunning."

"Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself," she replied, wondering what his reaction would be if she owned up to just how wonderful she really thought he looked in his dinner jacket and black bow tie.

As they exited the Hotel and she saw the car door being held open for her, Ellie hesitated. "A chauffeur? For real?"

"Of course a chauffeur," he replied, helping her into the car and climbing in beside her. "Saves no end of worry about where to park."

She looked out of the window as they drove along, though she wasn't concentrating on what she saw: her thoughts were already racing ahead to Symphony Hall and what lay in store for her – for them – there.

"Penny for them?" said Charles.

She managed a smile. "Cheapskate!"

"If you're worrying about what people will say – don't. I doubt we'll hear it directly anyway – seems to be bad form to be seen talking to me at the moment."

She turned to look at him. "People are snubbing you? Because of me?" She put a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry - I really messed up your life, didn't I?"

"Touché," he said, "But don't worry – we'll only be gossip fodder for a week or so. Next week, next month, someone else will get their gilt edging rubbed off. I'm a Winchester, as you will be very soon – they can't afford to snub us for ever."

The car glided to a halt outside Symphony Hall, and Charles put a hand on her arm to remind her not to open the door herself and leap out. "You'll get used to it," he assured her.

She clung to Charles' arm as they went inside, only too aware that the buzz of conversation all but ceased as they walked into the foyer, before resuming at a higher volume than before. She caught occasional snatches as Charles steered her through the throng and up the stairs – "...an _accordion _for goodness sake...", "...cheap little...", "...I suppose he's _sure_ it's his?…"

"You are ignoring them, aren't you?" murmured Charles, who could doubtless feel her grip on his arm getting tighter and tighter.

"I'm trying to."

"Not much further."

There were fewer people at the upper level, and only a few yards to cover to the door of the Winchester box. Charles ushered her in, and Ellie let out a breath she'd not realised she was holding as she sat down in comfort and relative privacy.

"I'm sorry," he said, handing her a Programme, "Perhaps I should have waited a few weeks before..."

"No, it's okay. Better to let them get the bile off their chests now, rather than let it fester."

"Not the most medically accurate analogy I've ever heard, but I have to agree with the sentiment," he said.

"Are you sure your parents won't be coming this evening? I keep half-expecting your mother to come through that curtain and pitch me into the stalls."

Instead of answering, he just gave an enigmatic smile and pointed to the Programme she was holding. She opened it up – and saw immediately why he was not worried about his mother joining them in the box.

"Your mother is playing the _Emperor_ concerto? Why didn't you tell me? I didn't even know she was a concert pianist!"

"She just does a couple of concerts a year with the Boston Symphony," said Charles, "But she's good." He gave her a sideways look. "She went to Juilliard."

"And you didn't think to mention this earlier?"

"I thought it would be more fun to surprise you," he said, as the orchestra began to take their places. "Oh, and before you ask why my father isn't here, he is." He pointed to a Box on the opposite side of the stage. "He's in the VIP Box this evening. So you don't have to worry about bumping into either of them." He hesitated for a moment and his expression became more serious. "I have to warn you though, Ellie – I might have to go out."

"You're on call at the hospital?" She was alarmed.

"No, not _leave_. Just... just go out." While the orchestra began to warm up, he explained what had happened to the Chinese POWs he had taught to play Mozart. "I haven't been able to listen to a record since – and this is the first concert I've been to since I got back," he said, "I was so glad you weren't playing classical music at the Metropolitan. I don't think I could have borne it."

"_Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory._"

He nodded. "Shelley certainly got that right."

"Oh, Charles, and you love your music so much." She gripped his hand in sympathy and, as the concert began, he held onto it as though it were a lifeline.

* * *

He didn't go out. But as the French horns and 'cellos swelled the _Pastoral _Symphony to its soaring climax in the fifth movement, he put his head in his hands. Ellie could feel the tension across his shoulders as she put a hand on his back to offer comfort.

As the last note died away and the applause began, he sat up and wiped his eyes. "I'll be alright," he said, shakily, standing up and clapping. "Probably just as well that my parents aren't sitting here. They wouldn't understand."

"Or approve?"

"Most assuredly not! I tried to explain to them when I got back, about how it was – the fear, the death, the sheer futility of it all but..." He sighed, hopelessly, "I suppose you really had to be there."

The applause had stopped, people were reaching for coats and bags, but Charles sat down again and Ellie did the same.

"Charles, what _you_ were doing wasn't futile," she pointed out, "There's a lot of guys walking around today who'd be dead if it wasn't for you. I _saw_ what all of you did out there."

"You did, didn't you? Some small part of it, anyhow. Perhaps some day you'll be able to explain it to _them_ – " He jerked his chin in the direction of the departing socialites, " – because I can't. I'm not even sure I care enough to keep trying."

"That doesn't sound like the Charles Emerson Winchester I met in Korea."

"The Charles Emerson Winchester you met died with those POWs," he said, "But I'm not sure I'd figured that out until now."

She smiled. "I think the better part of you survived."

He managed a shaky smile in return. "Maybe. Look, I was intending to take you out for dinner, but would you mind..."

"Skipping it? Of course not. We can order room service when we get back."

She took his arm as they left, relieved to see that 'most everyone else had already gone. "It was a wonderful concert," she said, "And your mother was brilliant. Thanks for bringing me."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, despite... everything."

They began to discuss the evening's performance, and spent the car journey comparing favourite recordings. As they got out of the car, Charles told his driver he could go. "I'll get a cab home later."

Mrs Brunson was a little surprised to see them back so early, but reported that Beth had been fed, entertained, bathed and put to bed without any trouble at all. "I wish all my charges had been as good!" she added, looking pointedly at Charles as she spoke.

He gave her a beatific smile and dialled room service, while Ellie showed her out. The restaurant was still serving, so they were able to have a hot meal brought straight up. As they ate, Charles found himself telling Ellie about some of the better times at the 4077th – the tit-for-tat practical jokes, the friendships, the 'special' patients they would never forget.

"There was one in particular," he said, "I was so pleased with myself about saving his leg. But when he came round, all he was concerned about was his damaged hand. Turned out he was a concert pianist in civilian life."

"Oh no! What happened?"

Briefly, Charles outlined his efforts to get David Sheridan to believe there could be a future without the keyboard.

Ellie pushed her plate aside and propped her chin in her hands. _So much for the brusque, uncaring image!_ she thought.

"Any idea what's happened to him since?"

"No. He wrote to me a couple of times once he got back Stateside, but with all the moving around we did... Anyway, I'm sure I'll hear about him sooner or later, once he's finished writing his first Opus." Pushing his chair back from the table, he stood up to go, reaching for the cleaned jacket and tie that the bell-hop had brought back an hour before.

"You know you... you don't have to go," said Ellie, as they stood by the door.

Cupping her chin with his free hand, he ran a thumb lightly across her lips before leaning down to kiss her, very gently.

"I _do_ have to go," he said, "And right now. I will see you in the morning, Ellie. I... I'm glad you liked the concert."

He opened the door, made to go – then pulled her to him and kissed her as though he meant it. "Goodnight," he said, quietly – and was gone.

"Oh, damn it," she sighed, shutting the door and leaning against it. "Now he's got me really confused!".

_To be continued…_


	3. Shotgun wedding

**October 1953. Boston, Mass.**

The next few weeks flew by for Ellie in a haze of dates and wedding preparations.

She discovered the beauty of autumn in New England as Charles took her to Harvard, Quincy and the Botanical Museum, and there were more concerts and recitals too – though none of them involved Mozart, she noticed, and even then he had to walk out on some of them. 

"You don't have to do this for me," she said, following him out to the foyer in the middle of one particularly poignant rendering of Mendelssohn's _Violin Concerto no. 1_. "If these concerts upset you so, we don't have to come."

"Yes, we do." He took a deep, unsteady breath, leaned back against one of the pilasters. "I'm trying to do this for me too, Ellie. Because if I don't, if I can't ever face hearing music like that again, then... then the war has won, it's got the better of me. And I won't – I can't – let that happen."

"'Cause you're a Winchester, right?"

He shook his head. "Because I'm me," he said, quietly. "Eleanor, I've seen what happens when someone lets the horrors get to them, and I don't want to go there." He folded his arms and stared down at his shoes. "Sooner or later, I'd have had to force myself to come along even if you weren't here," he added, "But it does help having someone with me."

"Thanks. But all the same, Charles, maybe we should have given this one a miss, and put something a bit lighter on the record player instead," she said, "Let's face it, that first movement is heartrending at the best of times." 

"It's also one of the most exquisite pieces of music ever written," he pointed out.

"Well, yeah, that too." With a gentle tug on his arm, she drew him across to the seats near the bar.  "Come on, we'll get a drink and then, if you want to, we'll go back in for the Third Movement."

He nodded. "I'll try. Maybe, if I make a conscious effort to think about something else, my mind will be too busy to give me any flashbacks."

"Sounds like a good idea," she said, as the barman put their drinks down on the table in front of them, "And if I might make a suggestion – try concentrating on that wretched guest list, and the seating plan I keep asking you about."

He groaned, as he always did when she mentioned such details, but nodded agreement all the same. "Alright, I'll give it some thought," he promised, "It's probably just tedious enough to work. I'm telling you now though – however hard I think, cousin Alfred still won't get an invitation." He smiled. "He wouldn't come anyway - but he'll be furious not to be asked."

*          *            *            *            *

**24th October 1953, Boston, Mass.**

The atmosphere at the breakfast table was brittle. No-one referred to the impending nuptials, but Honoria was sure that her parents were perfectly well aware that Charles was getting married this morning.

 Undaunted, she buttered her toast and tucked into scrambled eggs and bacon, rehearsing her little speech over again in her head. Her father rustled the paper as he turned from the business pages to the sports reports. Her mother, unusually, was silent – no gossip, no plans for the day, not even a reprimand about overdoing the salt. Yep. They knew alright.

Pushing the bacon rind to the side of her plate, Honoria set down her knife and fork and drained her coffee.

"Did you know," she said, as though continuing an earlier conversation, "That Charles nearly got k...killed in Korea?"

They both glared at her. "The autoclave explosion," said her father, "Corporal Klinger saved his life pushing him out of the way. He told us about it."

"No, no," said Honoria, dabbing her lips with her napkin, "I mean he n...nearly got shot. In the head."  She had their attention now, just as she'd expected. Charles had asked her never to tell them – "I don't want mother fussing," he'd written – but desperate times called for desperate measures so... "They were all outside getting the w...wounded off of the ambulance one night," she continued, putting down her napkin and nodding slightly to the maid as the girl cleared the plate away. "Charles and Doctor Hunnicutt were w...working on a patient whose heart had arrested, when a s...s...sniper started firing at them. They took cover, got the patient suh...stabilised and ran into the operating room with him. When they came out later, Charles discovered that a bullet had gone clean through the cap he'd been w...wearing."  She held up her right hand, thumb and forefinger pinched about a quarter-inch apart. "You came this close to losing him too."

She glanced from one parent to the other, could see they were beginning to waver. "Charles was really shaken up about it. He met Eleanor not long after it happened. Can you honestly blame him for wanting to be close to s...someone, after what nearly happened to him?  Ellie's not some w...wanton showgirl with no m..morals. She loves m...music and art and poetry – all the things that Charles likes. She w...was there for him when he needed her. Now he's going to be there for her. Because that's the right thing to do, and b...because that's the way you raised him."

Speech done, she stood up to go. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a wedding to attend."

*          *            *            *            *

In the Church, the organ played softly while the guests got seated. Charles could hear Pierce and Hunnicutt's juvenile giggling somewhere behind him, and thanked his stars that Sherman Potter had agreed to be his Best Man. A speech from either of those two Swamp-rats would have been unbearable.

"Son," Potter muttered, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I think your parents are here."

"No, Sherman, they're not..." Charles half-turned as he spoke, finished the sentence in a daze "...coming."  He spun back to Potter. "They _are_ here! How did...?"  He turned the other way, to where Honoria was sitting just behind. She gave him a wink and a discreet, white-gloved thumbs-up, before moving her bag to allow her mother to sit down.

Potter was grinning. "I like your sister," he said, "Hope she gets to marry that Eye-talian she liked, some day."

"Well, my parents' presence here is proof that miracles do happen," said Charles. "How the h..."  He remembered where he was "...heck did she _do_ that?"

He had no time to ponder the miracle further. The organ changed to playing _The Wedding March_ and the congregation rose as Ellie walked down the aisle toward him.

*          *            *            *            *

"You still haven't told me what they're going to play," hissed Ellie, as Charles led her out at the Reception for the first dance.

"I had the conductor write a special arrangement of a well-known tune," said Charles, "A little slower than it's usually played, I believe, but it should be recognisable."

"Oh no – tell me I'm not going to have to dance at my wedding to _Roll Out the Barrel_!" 

"No," he assured her, with a knowing smirk, "No I promise you, it's not that."

The orchestra started to play and as Charles guided her round the floor Ellie laughed as she realised what the music was: _Lady of Spain_, the tune she had played for Charles at the USO concert in the Post-op ward. The arranger had done a good job – played mostly on muted trumpets, and slowed just a little, it worked very well, and before long other couples were moving to join them on the dance floor.

-

Sherman Potter, as Best Man, had led Brandy Doyle onto the dance floor with perhaps a little more enthusiasm than duty strictly required. But with Mildred there to keep an eye on him, at least he knew he could flirt in safety, and he held Brandy close as they began to dance.

"Boy, it's been a long time since I deserved the title 'maid of honour'," she said, with a grin.

"Nah, you deserve it," he said, gallantly, "From what I've heard, you took care of Eleanor real well."

"Well, I got pretty close to all those girls while we were travelling around. I did a pretty good job keeping 'em away from the soldiers – it was the damn' doctors we had trouble with!  I meet you, take my eye off the ball – or, at least, off of _them_ – and by the time we leave, Marina is sighing 'oh, I had such a wonderful doctor!' and Eleanor's sighing back 'Yeah – me too!'"

-

Potter's laugh carried clear across the floor to Margaret, who was dancing with Robert Harwell. 

"Those two seem to be getting along very well," he aid, "Is there a story behind that too, or was my Head of Thoracic Surgery the only 4077th doctor who – ah – enjoyed entertaining?"

Margaret giggled. "Diplomatically put, uncle Bob. But Brandy shared _my_ tent, not the Colonel's – and his wife's with him today, so I think he's safe for the moment!"

Harwell grinned. "Well, at any rate it's good to have a chance to meet him – and BJ and Sidney too. Course, if you'd had a bigger wedding yourself..."

"Oh, uncle, don't start on that again. I've said I'm sorry – honestly, it was such a spur-of-the-moment thing…" She stopped, his laughter making her realise that he had been kidding her, and she gave him a playful slap on the arm. "So how's your Head of Thoracic Surgery working out anyway?" she asked, changing the subject, "Hope you're not sorry I sent you that telegram."

"Not at all, I'm glad you did. Charles is a very fine surgeon – as he often reminds me himself."

"I'll bet!" she laughed, "But he can be very sweet too, when he wants to be. Did I tell you about Doctor Chesler?"

"Oh yeah, I remember – you wrote us about that. It was Charles who fixed that up for you, wasn't it?"

"Uh-huh. Left me speechless in more ways that one. Mind you, he was lost for words himself when I gave him a 'thank you' kiss."

He gave her a questioning look, but she decided she'd leave that one dangling for a while. She could tell him later that she and Charles had been in the mess tent at the time. Well – maybe she'd tell him. Some time.

-

"Ahhh, look, BJ!"  Peg Hunnicutt nudged her husband, and pointed to the dance floor. BJ wiped Erin's mouth free of custard, grinned as he saw what his wife was pointing to.  Charles was holding his daughter in his arms, and was dancing round the floor with her, making the child laugh with delight as he jogged her up and down in time to the music. 

"Well, if he can dance with _his_ best girl, I guess I can dance with mine," he said, scooping Erin up out of the high-chair, giving her a kiss and moving to the dance floor to join Charles and Beth.

"And I thought they were crazy back in the Swamp!" said Hawkeye to Sidney Freedman.

"Hawkeye, you were _all_ crazy back in the Swamp," the psychiatrist replied, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, "You probably all still are – it's just a matter of degree!"  

It took Hawkeye a moment to realise that Sidney was pulling his leg. At least – he was _fairly_ sure his leg was being pulled. With Sidney he could never be entirely certain. He let a moment or two pass, looked around to make sure there was no-one too nearby. "Sidney – in all seriousness, is Charles okay?"

"In all seriousness, Hawkeye, you know perfectly well that I couldn't possibly tell you. From where I'm sitting though, he looks absolutely fine."

"Oh, come on Sidney!  That orchestra has played nothing but light music and jazz the entire afternoon. I'm supposed to think it's natural for Charles _not_ to have some classical music at his own wedding?"

"Hawkeye." Sidney's glance somehow managed to convey a wealth of meaning. "You've confronted _your_ demons. You're fine. I'm sure Charles will overcome whatever it is that's bothering him. Now, if you'll excuse me – I'm going to dance with the bride."

-

When her dance with her 'uncle' Bob finished, Margaret had noticed Honoria sitting by herself at the deserted top table and had gone over to introduce herself.

"Oh, it's so good to m...meet you. Charles has t...t...told me so much about you all."

"Any of it good?" asked Margaret, hoping that her surprise over Honoria's stuttering didn't show.

"More than you might think! Seems you p...people saved a lot of lives – in between p...p...practical jokes."

"Mm, Charles did his share of both," said Margaret, "I recall it was him who put minnows in my pocket."

Honoria giggled. "He did that to me too, once, w...when he was about eleven!" Her face clouded slightly as she went on: "Father gave him a thorough hiding for it and he n...never, ever did anything like that again." Her smile returned, "Not to me anyway."

"I take it your parents didn't react too well to Ellie either?" said Margaret, sipping her champagne, "I saw them in Church, but..."

"They went straight home," said Honoria, with a sigh, "I only managed to t...talk them into going to the service by reminding them that they nearly lost Charles in Korea."

"Oh, the autoclave accident? Yeah, that was a close one."

"No, no, I mean when he nearly got shot," said Honoria.

Margaret shook her head, blankly.

"There was a suh..sniper?" said Honoria, "Put a bullet through his cap?"

Understanding dawned in Margaret's mind, together with an attack of the guilts. "Is that what that was all about?" she said, recalling the holes in the hat Charles had been examining in the Officers Club while she talked to – or, rather, at – him. "And I was so awful to him. We knew there was something wrong, but – he just never said anything..." She trailed off, drained her glass. Gods, no wonder Charles had been a bit off-kilter for a while!

"If Charles doesn't want to t...talk, he won't," said Honoria, "There wouldn't have been anything you could have done to make him. Right now, _I_ can't get him to talk about wh...why classical music upsets him so much. Any ideas?"

"Oh yes," said Margaret, suddenly serious, "I can help you with that one. Just don't ever tell him you got it from me..."

-

When the music changed, BJ brought Erin back to the table and handed her to Peg, who moved across to talk to Mildred Potter.

BJ settled down next to Hawkeye again. "You know, if I'd been told back in the Swamp that one of you two would have a shotgun wedding, I'd have put my mortgage – nay, my very life – on _you_," he said.

Hawkeye grinned. "Yeah. There but for the grace of God – and being a lot more careful than he was," he said, with a jerk of his head in Charles' direction.

"D'you know what I still can't figure out?"

"Beej, you've got a kid of your own, surely you've worked out the basics by now?"

"What I can't figure out," said BJ, ploughing on, undaunted, "Is how we missed what was going on with those two. I mean, we could have had fun for weeks, teasing Charles about getting _in_ to showbusiness!"

Hawkeye laughed aloud. "Yeah, we sure could have got some mileage out of that. With hindsight, they were all over each other like a rash from the moment they met. They were talking about music all through dinner that first evening Ellie got there, remember?  I guess we were both pretty tired though, weren't we, thanks to Fast Freddie – and we each had patients to take care of."

"Speaking of whom," said BJ, waving at the dance floor, "Isn't it great to see them together?"

"Sure is. Never have I been happier to see a girl forget me," said Hawkeye, watching Marina and her fiancé Mike Norwicki dancing to a Peggy Lee song. "But getting back to teasing Charles – are you up for sending some room service to the Honeymoon Suite a little later?"

BJ's conspiratorial smile gave him the answer. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

*          *            *            *            *

**Same evening, Cape Cod, Mass.**

"Charles, you said this was a beach apartment!" said Ellie, as they got out of the car. She stared at the edifice in front of them with wide-eyed amazement. "Honestly, it's about the size of three city blocks!"

"It is a little bigger than your average beach-hut," he agreed, "But I've had my fill of slumming it."

As he spoke, the door was opened by an immaculate butler, who extended congratulations "on behalf of the staff and myself, sir."

"Staff!" squeaked Ellie, faintly, "How many of them are there?"

"Only five," said Charles, grinning. He indicated the threshold. "Uh - do you want me to...?" 

Ellie shook her head, feeling a little ill at ease with the butler hovering close by.

"Get the bags, would you, Parks?" said Charles, as though sensing her discomfort, and ushered Ellie inside. "Anything you need?" he asked her, as she stopped in the hallway and stared around at the stripped-pine panelling and white-painted doors.

"This is sure going to take some getting used to," she said; then, realising she hadn't answered his question, shook her head. "Just the bathroom," she said.

"Through here," he said, guiding her along the corridor ahead of them, and opening the door at the end of the passage. "It's en suite," he added, pointing at the door on the opposite side of the room.

"Naturally," she replied, trying to keep her tone light, though she felt suddenly and unexpectedly awkward as she stepped into the bedroom. "Charles?"

"Yes?" He'd moved across to the side of the bed to switch on the lamp.

"Oh - uh, nothing. I... just wondered if you wanted to go first?"

He grinned. "You don't honestly imagine we have only one bathroom?"

"Sorry - dumb question, I guess." _Though not as dumb as the question I nearly asked him_, she thought, as she closed the bathroom door behind her. She picked the confetti out of her hair and looked her mirrored self squarely in the eye as she spoke to herself instead: _Do you really think we can make this work? _And answered: _Sure as hell have to try. Right?_

-

When she returned to the bedroom, she saw that their bags had been left at the foot of the bed, and she knelt down to unfasten her case. "Do you think BJ and Hawkeye have tried gatecrashing the honeymoon suite yet?" she said, looking up at Charles while he placed his cufflinks on the dresser and unstrapped his watch. 

"Probably," he said, wincing at the thought, "One thing's for sure, if they woke Beth, they'll have got the rough edge of Mrs Brunson's tongue."

She giggled, and stood up, throwing her new nightdress onto the eiderdown. "Serve them right. Wonder what they think they've got planned for us?"

"I shudder to think," he said, "Let's just say I'm glad we're out of their way…" He moved to stand in front of her, brushed his fingers through her hair, and Ellie stopped thinking about BJ and Hawkeye. 

She unfastened his shirt, half-wondering whether he could tell that she was so nervous her fingers had all become thumbs, and ran her hands over his chest. 

"At least your necklace won't get tangled up with my dog-tags this time," he said. The gentle, jesting reminder made Ellie giggle, breaking the tension and the faint unease, and she slid her arms around Charles' neck as he nuzzled hers. 

"Hmm, yeah, now I remember," she sighed.

"Remember what?" he murmured, as he eased the zipper down the back of her dress.

"I remember why," she said, softly - and kissed him.

*          *            *            *            *

Ellie yawned and stretched, listening in the early morning half-light for sounds of her daughter awakening.

The gentle wash of breaking waves beyond the window reminded her where she was, and she opened her eyes to the curtained dimness of the unfamiliar room. Rolling over, she put a hand on Charles' arm and watched him while he slept. Hard as it was to admit, she knew she was falling in love with him despite herself. Which, she supposed, was no bad thing, given that they'd just got married.

But how did _he_ feel? In Korea, he'd needed her. Last night he had most definitely wanted her. He was fond of her, she thought, and he obviously adored Beth. But beyond that? She suspected he was still half in love with somebody else – he'd get a distant look in his eyes sometimes, usually if the conversation involved anything French. So, maybe she'd have to settle for 'fond'. She hoped it would be enough.

On impulse, she leaned over and grazed his mouth with hers, kept kissing him till she felt him kiss her back. "That's a nice way to wake up," he murmured, "Beats 'incoming wounded' any day." He slid an arm around her as she snuggled against him. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," she said, "Early. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you. I suppose breakfast's not for hours yet."

She felt, rather than heard, his low chuckle. "Not if the staff know what's good for them."  Sliding his arms around her, he guided her back onto the pillows and added: "But since we _are_ awake, I suppose we can find something to do."

Ellie giggled. "Mmm – more variations on a theme?"

He laughed. "If you like."

"I like," she admitted, "I like very much."

*          *            *            *            *

It was mid-morning by the time they got around to opening the wedding presents. Ellie was a little sceptical that there was anything they didn't already have, but the pile of gift-wrapped parcels in the sun-lounge proved that their friends had at least made an effort to think of something original.

"Hope they're not all toasters," she said, picking up the nearest one and weighing it. "Hmm, no – this one isn't anyway. Too thin."

"Who's it from?" said Charles, dropping onto a chair, with pen and paper poised.

"Sherman and Mildred Potter," she said, unwrapping. "A photo album – correction, a _wedding_ photo album it says on the front. That's sweet – now, if everyone sends us copies of their snaps we'll have somewhere to put them all."

There was a half-case of fine wines from BJ and Peg, together with a book entitled _Home Brewing: How to make money from your own Still_; while Ellie's old friends from the USO had clubbed together and sent bound sets of music scores – two for the piano, and one for the accordion.

"Shame I sold it," she said, "Still, it was a lovely thought."

Honoria sent two silver-framed photographs – one of Ellie and Beth for Charles, which they had conspired to have taken at the best photographic studio in town; and for Ellie, a copy of a photograph of Charles in his dress uniform which she had admired while visiting Honoria's apartment.  Sidney had sent a poetry anthology, and a photograph frame with a note saying: _For your favourite wedding picture_.

"And this one's from Hawkeye and Margaret," said Ellie, reading the label, "It says there's a note in each sleeve – so I guess it's records."

"Gods, I daren't think what they'll have bought," said Charles, "Pierce had some grasp, admittedly, but Margaret and I shared her record player for four weeks, and she still had trouble telling Mozart from Mussorgsky."

"Well," said Ellie, pulling off the wrapping paper, "This looks like a pretty good selection to me." She flicked through the albums slowly, then remembered that there were supposed to be messages in each one. "Beethoven's _Sonata Pathétique_," she said, holding up the topmost one, "And the note says: '_Hope this is the right one to remind you of the night in the Officers' Club'_. Hey, how did they know?"

"Uh – I think I might have muttered something about it," said Charles, "In Denver. What else have we got?"

"Let's see, there's a copy of the _Emperor_ concerto, soloist... wow, Artur Schnabel. Someone knew what they were doing with that one!"

Charles laughed. "Took her long enough! Is it the 1932 recording?"

She flipped the sleeve, checked it. "Yeah – how'd you know?"

"Lucky guess." He jerked his chin at the record. "Is there a note?"

"Yep. Here we are... '_This one's from Margaret. Charles knows why.'_"  Ellie put the records down a moment and folded her arms. "You going to tell me, or is it something the two of you would prefer to keep private?"

"Later," he said, grinning, "Go on, there's more records yet!"

"Hmm. Okay, but don't think I'm going to let this go."  It was her turn to grin as she picked up the next album.

"Folk tunes – on the accordion!" she announced, drawing a groan and a pained look from Charles. "The note says: '_We know how much Charles will like this one. Play it real loud, Ellie!'_"

"Well, I suppose two out of three isn't bad," he said, "Or is there another one like that?"

"There is another one, yes," she said, picking up the last record in the pile. "But not like that. It's Mozart, Charles – the _Quintet for Clarinet and Strings._"

He didn't say anything, but his smile faded, and she could see that this time the anguish was real. Hastily, she searched inside the sleeve for the note, read it through silently, then again aloud: "'_Charles, this is to replace the one you smashed, in the hope that some day you'll feel able to listen to it without the hurt'."_  She busied herself putting the note back with the record so that she could pretend she hadn't noticed him biting his lip. 

"Is that everything?" he said, after a moment or two. He was clearly making an effort to cover his distress – she could hear the forced cheerfulness in his voice – but she decided to go along with the pretence this time. "Looks like we'll have our work cut out with the 'thank you' letters."

"Yes, that's everything, except this one – from me to you," she said, swallowing her disappointment that there was nothing from Charles to her. Well, he had just given her his name and all his worldly goods. She supposed he considered that quite enough.

"They're custom made," she told him, as he stood up to take the tiny package from her, and unwrapped it, "And I used my own savings,"

"Cufflinks!"  He sounded pleased, took one out of the box to get a better look. "Tom and Jerry!"  His laughter sounded genuine enough, and she was grateful that Honoria had tipped her off about his liking for the characters. "My sister's been talking too much again, by the look of it. They're wonderful - thank you. I'll wear them for the next concert we go to." He kissed her cheek, and murmured, "You might want to take a look under the table."

Lifting the tablecloth, she did so. "Omigod! Charles, what...?"

He helped her drag the parcel out and lifted it onto the table for her, then folded his arms, smirking, as she pulled at the wrapping. The plain cardboard box container gave nothing away, but as soon as she prised open one of the side flaps she could see what was inside.

"You..." She had to clear her throat and try again. "You bought me an accordion?"

"It's purely ornamental," he said, as she ripped away the rest of the packaging, "Doesn't play a note."

She picked it up, gave it a squeeze and pressed the keys. "Liar!"

"I've been robbed! The proprietor assured me..."

"Shut up, Charles," she said, putting the instrument down so she could hug him, "I want to thank you."

"Well," he said, "Just don't play it where I can hear it – that will be thanks enough!" 

_To be continued…_


	4. Friends and Relations

**October 1953, Boston, Mass.**

Moving in to Charles' town house proved to be something of an adventure in itself for Ellie. She found he'd already had one of the bedrooms redecorated and refurnished for Beth, with a brand new nursery room next to it filled with toys. 

"Honoria chose the wallpaper," he said, "And Mrs Brunson helped with the toys. But if there's anything you want to change, you'll let me know won't you?"

Ellie couldn't help but feel a little aggrieved that Charles hadn't consulted her about it, but she had to admit that she couldn't see anything to find fault with. And after all, it was rather touching that he'd obviously spent a good deal of money on a child he had only known about for just over a month.

"It looks perfect," she said, truthfully.

Charles guided her back along the corridor. "There's a bathroom across the hall, another bedroom here – one here – another one here, though it's turned into something of a junk room, I'm afraid. And along here –"  he turned a corner and Ellie followed, finding a short flight of stairs leading up to a door on the left, "- is the master bedroom."  He opened the door, led the way inside. "En suite facilities are through that door."

"And behind these?" Ellie pointed at the two sets of double-doors set into the opposite wall.

"Walk-in wardrobes. I've had your things put in the one on the right."

"Charles, just how many bedrooms do you have?"  Ellie's head was spinning.

"Do _we_ have," he corrected, gently. "Uh... five here, counting Beth's. Not counting the servants' quarters. I'm afraid the décor in here is a bit austere. If you want to brighten it up a bit, I'll give you the interior decorator's details. The study needs finishing too."

"Yes, I noticed the bare walls in there – looked liked there'd been cabinets and pictures at one time?"

He nodded, leading the way back downstairs and into the study again. "Till I got back from Korea, I had gun cabinets along there." He pointed at the wall beyond the desk. "And up there, I had a butterfly collection that my cousin Alfred had been trying to persuade me to part with since I was twelve. I was so proud of it."  Folding his arms, he leaned back against the edge of the desk. "When I got back, I didn't want to see another gun as long as I lived – and I couldn't see any beauty in death."  He closed his eyes for a moment and Ellie stepped closer intending to offer comfort; but after a second or two he straightened up and continued to talk as though he was absolutely fine. "So I sold the Purdeys, and gave the butterflies to the Museum of Natural History."

"I thought you said your cousin wanted them?"

He gave a twisted smile. "He did."

"Oh. Okay." Ellie remembered that Alfred had not been sent an invitation and decided not to pursue that one right now. "So the result is, you need the room redecorating," she said, briskly.

"Yes. The desk stays, the chair stays and the bookshelves remain untouched. Otherwise – do your worst!"

*          *          *          *          *

The redecorating kept her busy for the next few weeks, while she also learned to cope with running a house full of servants. She had thought that everything would just happen and the staff would know what needed to be done, but she soon discovered that that wasn't the case.

"A lot of the time, suh...staff behave as thought they don't have a brain between them," Honoria informed her, when Ellie telephoned in desperation one afternoon.  "The best thing you can do is m...make friends with the housekeeper."

"Mrs Hall?" said Ellie, "I don't think she approves of me. Whenever I talk to her, I end up feeling like the second Mrs de Winter!"

Honoria giggled. "Well, I don't think you need to w...worry about her burning the house down. Don't worry about Mrs Hall – she just t...takes a little getting used to. And remember, you're a Winchester now – don't s...stand any nonsense from her."

"Yeah, well, being a Winchester takes a little getting used to too," said Ellie, "But thanks for the advice. Honoria, there's something else I need to ask you as well, if you don't mind?"

"Of course I don't, w...what is it?"

"Well, the redecorating's almost finished, and I'm sure once I get the hang of giving orders to people the place will run quite smoothly."

"Yes. So what's the p...problem with that?"

"Honoria, I have no idea what I'll _do_! I mean, there's Beth to look after and play with of course, but I can't do that all day every day, as much as I love her. What on earth do you _do_?"

"Ah! Yes, I do see your p...problem. Tell you what, come round for coffee t...tomorrow morning. I'll invite a few friends and we'll see what we can come up with."

"Will your friends come if they know I'm going to be there?"

"Oh yes, don't worry. I'm afraid my suh..._single_ acquaintances still haven't quite forgiven you for s...snaffling one of the most eligible bachelors in town, but the young marrieds have moved on to gossiping about Samantha Rowe, who's just run off with her father's horse t...trainer. You'll be quite safe, I promise. Bring Beth."

Honoria was as good as her word. Beth was a great hit, and made some small friends of her own; and before long, Ellie found herself caught up in a whirl of coffee mornings, lunches, charity work, and swapping advice with other young mothers. She stopped worrying so much about what people were saying when she went out with Charles and was able to start to relax and enjoy the music, art and literature that Boston had to offer. 

If she had believed that Charles loved her, she'd have been quite content. But she couldn't help but notice that he put in some very long hours at the hospital. Was that her fault, she wondered, or would he have been pulling those hours anyway? True, he never gave any overt indication that he minded the situation they'd gotten themselves into – it was just that the more she loved him, the more she worried that he might come to resent her.

With Thanksgiving approaching, her anxiety only increased. It was supposed to be a time for family, for the different generations to get together in celebration, but here Charles was, his first Thanksgiving on home soil for three years, and he wouldn't be spending it with the parents he obviously loved.

"I'm not going over there without you and our daughter," he'd said, stubbornly, when Honoria had phoned them with a message that Charles would be welcome to drop by their parents' house, "In any case, I'll be working Thanksgiving."

"Working...?  Oh, great! When did you decide that?"  Ellie had been kneeling beside Beth, but gave the child the teddy she'd been holding and jumped to her feet.

"People get sick all the time, Ellie, not just office hours," he said, defensively, "Someone has to work over the holiday and I thought it might as well be me. Beth isn't old enough to care whether her dad's home for Thanksgiving or not."

"Didn't it occur to you that _I_ might care?" said Ellie, "Didn't you think to ask me whether I'd invited people over, maybe, or...or planned us an outing or something?"

"Uh...no." He looked sheepish. "Have you?"

"No. I had this crazy idea that it would be nice for us to spend our first Thanksgiving together... _together_. Play some records maybe, listen to the radio – take Beth to the park if it didn't rain. Just..." She realised she'd raised her voice top a pitch that was upsetting Beth, and took a deep, calming breath before going on, quietly, "I just wish you'd asked _me_ is all. Now what am I supposed to do? It's too late to start thinking of inviting anyone over – everyone else'll have plans already." Frowning, she dropped onto a chair, folded her arms. "I should have known you wouldn't think of putting me first."  

"Ellie, that's not fair! I can't help it if I'm busy can I? Be grateful I'm not on call twenty-four hours a day any more!"

"You might as well be, for the amount of time I see you! When you _are_ here you're with Beth, or working in your study – where do I come in to the picture?" She knew she _was_ being unfair, but she was too annoyed about Thanksgiving to care. "Look, I'm sorry I messed up your life, but marriage was _your_ idea, remember? And last I heard..."

She stopped mid-sentence, as a knock on the door heralded the arrival of Mrs Hall, who had come to tell Charles that he was wanted on the phone: "It's the hospital, sir," she added.

He rushed off to take the call, and the housekeeper turned to follow, but Ellie, in a moment of inspiration, called her back. "Oh, Mrs Hall?"

"Yes, madam?"

"Doctor Winchester and I have been – ah - discussing plans for Thanksgiving, and as we won't be entertaining this year, we'd like to give you and the staff the day off to go spend with your families."

"_All_ the staff, madam? Including cook?" Mrs Hall looked a little stunned, and Ellie half-expected her to say 'the first Mrs de Winter would never have allowed that!'

She smiled, determined not to betray even a hint of her quarrel with Charles. "Certainly including cook, Mrs Hall. So long as all the provisions are in the kitchen, I'm sure I'll be able to cobble something together."

"Well! Thank you, madam." Mrs Hall's face was suddenly transformed by the first smile she had ever bestowed upon Ellie. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, Mrs Hall, thank you, that'll be all for now," said Ellie, feeling that she might finally have made a breakthrough with her starchy household supervisor. 

"I have to go." Charles stood in the doorway, pulling on his coat and scarf. "Lives to save, if that's alright with you."

"Charles," she said, "I didn't mean..."

Ignoring her, he crossed the room to lift Beth up for a kiss. "Bye, sweetie," he said, and was gone before Ellie could say anything more. 

*          *          *          *          *

Ellie sat on the sofa in the music room, nursing a drink and listening to _Madam Butterfly _on the record player. She was surrounded by luxury: velvet cushions, Persian rugs, original oil paintings, beautiful ornaments, a Steinway piano, and a collection of orchestral recordings that would have put Juilliard's Music Library to shame. 

She'd never felt more miserable in her life. 

She thought she'd done with crying but, when the front door slammed and she heard Charles talking to the butler in the hall, she found tears welling up again. She dashed them away and drained her drink – but couldn't look round when she heard Charles come in and close the door behind him.

"Eleanor, I am sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to make you feel... It's just... I'm so used to _trying_ to be by myself, you know? I'm still getting used to my job as well as... as well as you. This having to think about others is still kind of new to me." He took her empty glass from her, sniffed it and put it down on the table. "Whisky and a suicidal soprano? Not exactly the best way to cheer yourself up," he went on, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

"Who wants to cheer up?" she said, grumpily, bracing an elbow on the arm of the sofa and propping her chin on a hand.

"Ellie, what do you want me to say?" He sat down next to her, put a hand on her shoulder, "Look, I can't do anything about Thanksgiving, but I will take a couple of days off next week and... we can do those things you had planned. If you still want to."  He sighed. "Or, I could just refill your glass and leave you to wallow, if you'd rather?"

Ellie bit her lip, as a smile threatened to surface. "What would you know about wallowing?" she asked, defiantly. 

"Got a sister, haven't I? I learned a long time ago that when she locked herself in the music room with a supply of sherry and _Dido's Lament_, she was looking forward to an evening of abject misery."

"Good. You understand then," she said. Damn him, he'd succeed in making her laugh in a minute if she wasn't careful!

"Good Lord, I wouldn't pretend to _begin_ to understand!" he said, "I merely know how to recognise the symptoms!"  She didn't reply, and after a moment he got to his feet again. "I'll go look in on Beth."

"Charles, wait!" she called, as he made for the door. She shrugged. "Apology accepted," she added, quietly. "When you've checked on Beth, maybe we can sort out somewhere to go on your days off?"

"Can we do that over dinner?" he suggested, hopefully, "I'm starved!"

Ellie suddenly realised that she was hungry too – and no longer in the mood for Puccini. "I'll get that sorted out," she promised, "While you're upstairs."

*          *          *          *          *

**November 26th 1953 – Thanksgiving**

"Mmm, looks good," said Charles, tying his tie as he wandered into the kitchen and leaned over Ellie's shoulder to look at the eggs and kippers she was cooking. "I may fire the cook."

"There's four slices of burnt toast in the bin says you won't," said Ellie, dryly. 

"Wondered why it _smelled _burnt. Beth still asleep?"

"Yep. And speaking of sleep – are you alright?"

"Perfectly. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't give me that 'I'm fine' routine, Charles. I was there last night when you woke up screaming, remember?" She looked around at him. 

"I remember you administering first aid," he murmured, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her neck.

Ellie felt her face grow warm with a heat that had nothing to do with the stove. "Never mind that," she said, "I asked if you were okay."

"And I told you I'm fine," he insisted, "Ellie, I can't expect to _not_ have nightmares occasionally. I'm just grateful they don't happen more often."

"Wish there was something I could do."

"There was, and you did," he grinned, making her giggle and blush again. "And those kippers are done."

She slid the eggs onto the two slices of toast she had managed not to burn, added the fish and handed him the plate. "I'd better go check on the baby," she said, "While you get yourself around this. Oh – you'll have to eat in here," she added, "I haven't had time to set the table in the dining-room."

She expected him to protest, but he just laughed and sat himself down at the kitchen table. "That'll teach you to give everyone the day off," he said, "Just thank your stars you haven't had to hand-pump the stove."

"Huh?" She gave him a quizzical look, suspecting there was a story behind that remark, but he didn't elaborate, concentrating on his food. "Hey, I'm putting an egg on for Beth," she said, running water into the saucepan and dropping in an egg, "D'you think you could watch for it boiling? Needs timing for three minutes when it does."

As she went out the door, she heard him protesting, "But that's not how you boil an egg!"

"So sue me!" she called back, heading for the stairs.

She heard the doorbell ring as she was washing Beth and hoped Charles would answer it - she had her work cut out with the baby, who was fractious and playing up. It took Ellie much longer than usual to get her cleaned, dressed and changed. "You would pick this morning to be difficult," she chided, sucking her thumb where she'd stuck the safety pin into it. "Damn' saucepan will have boiled dry, and your daddy'll sit there and let it. Come on!"

Carrying Beth downstairs, she met Charles in the hall, putting his coat on. "Egg done?" she asked.

He snapped his fingers. "I knew there was something I'd forgotten," he said, kissing the baby and picking up his bag. "Oh, by the way," he added, as he opened the front door, "There was a...uh...special delivery for you while you were upstairs. You'll find it in the kitchen. Bye!"

The door slammed behind him and Ellie trooped through to the kitchen, expecting to find some sort of parcel on the table and a room full of steam. Instead, she found Brandy Doyle nursing a coffee cup, in front of a plate of buttered bread 'soldiers' and an egg-cup that was covered with an egg-cosy. The saucepan was in the sink. Ellie wasn't sure what surprised her the most.

"Brandy!?  Oh my goodness – what... how?"

"Hi, hon!" Brandy jumped up to give the both of them a hug, "Surprise eh? Charles called me – sent me the airfare and everything. Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Charles... Wait, did he do this?" Ellie pointed at Beth's breakfast.

"Well, I sure didn't," said Brandy, "I thought _you_ had."

"Here – take care of her for a second, will you?" said Ellie, handing her Beth and running back through the hall. She wrenched the front door open, saw Charles was driving the car around from the garage, and hollered his name.

The car ground to a halt and he wound down his window and looked back at her. "Yell a little louder, I don't think they heard you in Harvard," he called.

"Charles Emerson Winchester," she shouted, as though his window was till closed, "I think I'm gonna marry you!"

He gave her one of his schoolboy grins and a wave, set the car moving again. Ellie watched him go, then realised it was too cold to be standing outside in her dressing-gown, and hurried back into the warmth of the kitchen.

Brandy had managed to install Beth in her high-chair and was taking a crack at the egg with the butter-knife.

"I always use a spoon," said Ellie, suiting the action to the words, "And bash the top in first. Boy, would you look at that – cooked to perfection. How'd he do that?"

"Honey, I thought you had staff to do that," said Brandy, "And to answer the door too, come to think of it."

"It's my own fault," said Ellie, with a smile, "I gave everyone the day off. I wasn't expecting to have a visitor to entertain."

"Aw, Ellie, this is _me_, Brandy! If there's any entertaining to be done around here, _I'll_ be the one doing it – right?"

"Right," grinned Ellie, spooning a little of the egg into Beth's mouth and handing her a slice of bread and butter, "Hey, how about I get my new accordion out later, it's high time it got an airing."

"Oh, that'll be fun," said Brandy, pouring them both more coffee, "Assuming I can remember any songs that you'll be happy for me to sing in front of Beth, that is!"

The day passed quickly while they played with the baby, reminisced and sang a few duets. When Charles walked into the drawing-room and picked up Beth to give her a 'hello' kiss, Ellie was surprised to find that it was already nearly 6 o'clock.

"Oops. And I didn't start dinner yet," she said, scrambling to her feet.

Charles held up a hand, his sigh stopping her in her tracks. "Ellie, do you know how long a turkey is supposed to be in the oven for, before the risk of contracting food poisoning from it is reduced to zero percent?" he asked.

"Uhh...um...ah...." she guessed, sitting down again.

"Thought not. Brandy, you are more than welcome to stay for dinner – so long as you don't mind _not_ having turkey," he offered. "Ellie, stay here and keep our guest happy. I'll go and see what's in the fridge."

"You taking Beth with you? She'll be in your way."

"Not in her high chair she won't." He gave Beth another kiss. "Come on with me, small one, and watch a master at work."

"He sure loves that kid," said Brandy, as the door closed behind him.

"Yes he does, and she loves him right back. Kinda makes me feel guilty that I didn't tell him about her sooner."

"You did what you felt was right at the time, darlin', don't feel bad."

"That's easy to say," said Ellie, "But..."

The doorbell rang and she got to her feet again. "'Scuse me, Brandy. I guess I'd better go this time."

Honoria stood on the porch, carrying a couple of bags with exclusive store labels on them. "I can't stop," she said, before Ellie could invite her in, "Dinner's at 7.15. B...but I wanted to stop by and say 'happy Thanksgiving' and give you these."  She held up the bags.

"But Honoria, you already gave us..."

"Uh-uh. These are from my p...parents. For Beth."

"_What!? _I thought they didn't want anything to do with her?" said Ellie, taking the bags and glancing inside at the beautifully-wrapped parcels.

"Ah. Well, that's still the suh...story they're s...sticking to with each other," said Honoria, "But last week dad g...gave me that –" she pointed to the bag in Ellie's left hand  "–and told me strictly on the QT that I should s…slip it to Elizabeth when mother wasn't looking. And yesterday, mother did exactly the s...same. Hence, t...two presents. Hope they haven't both  b...bought the same thing!"

Ellie grinned. "Thanks, Honoria. How long do you think it'll be before they admit to each other that they'd quite like to meet their granddaughter?"

"Well, Christmas is coming," said Honoria, "Who knows? I m...must go. Say hello to Charles from me."

She hurried back to her car and drove off with a cheery wave, and Ellie closed the door and let out a low whistle. "Well, whaddya know," she muttered to herself, "Maybe miracles happen after all."

*          *          *          *          *

Now that they had had the first suggestion that Charles' parents were starting to become reconciled to their situation, Ellie decided to stop fretting about them and start worrying about what to get her husband for Christmas. 

Trouble was, she couldn't think that there was much he didn't already have; and besides, it still rankled with her that she would be using 'his' money to buy something for him.

"What we need," she said to Beth, as she tucked the child into her cot, "Is something money can't buy. Any ideas?"

"Dah-dee," said Beth, following it up with an equally unhelpful "Gung-gung."

"Wish I could figure what you mean by that," smiled Ellie, setting the musical mobile above the cot spinning, "It doesn't come close to anything I recognise as English!"

She waited by the cot till Beth showed signs of dozing off, gave her a gentle kiss and tiptoed out.

Downstairs in the music room, she sat at the piano and began to play the _Moonlight Sonata_, while her mind turned over the Christmas present problem again. She was halfway through the second movement when she heard the front door shut, heralding Charles' arrival home.

"No, don't stop," he called from the hallway, when she broke off playing. A moment later he appeared in the doorway, loosening his tie. "At least finish the _Allegretto_," he said, "While I go say goodnight to Beth."

"You sure?"

"No – but play it anyway." He leaned against the door-jamb for a moment, hands thrust in his pockets and that familiar half-smile on his face while Ellie checked back a bar or two and resumed her playing.  When she glanced back toward the door, he was gone, but a few minutes later she could hear his footsteps overhead, moving across the Nursery.

"Dammit," she muttered, drawing the movement to a close, "What the hell do you get for the man who has everything?"

And then she tidied the sheets of music on the top of the piano, saw the name Ravel in the corner of one of them – and knew what the answer was.

-

"You're looking very pleased with yourself," said Charles, when she found him in the study a little later, "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing – yet," she replied, giving him a mischievous smile and perching herself on the edge of his desk, "I thought I'd take Beth to see Santa tomorrow." 

"Isn't she a little young to be telling him what she wants for Christmas?" he said, "She's only just mastered 'daddy'." 

"Yeah, and it's going to be a while before I hear the last of that, isn't it?" she replied, leaning sideways to prop an elbow on his blotter. "I think she'll like the Grotto. Emilia Scott says they've got little puppet elves and clockwork toys and stuff."

"Mmm, sounds more fun than _my_ agenda!" He sat back, and stretched. "I've got a deskload of paperwork to catch up on."

"Is that what you're doing now?"  

"This?"  He tapped the sheet of paper on the blotter under her elbow. "No. This is a – ah – variation on a Winchester tradition."

"Oh, not another one!"

"Don't be so cynical! You'll like this one."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He mimicked her accent, drew her off the desk to stand beside him as he explained. "It's a Winchester tradition that at Christmas we give to those less fortunate than ourselves. We'd go out in the car on Christmas Eve and leave boxes of the finest chocolates on the doorstep of the orphanage or the Children's Hospital. It has to be done anonymously, otherwise it isn't a true act of Charity." He sighed. "It didn't occur to me to think about what those kids really needed, till I got taught a lesson in Korea. I left candy bars for the children at the local orphanage, and the man who ran the place sold the lot on the black market – to raise money for rice and cabbage.  This - " He pointed at the paperwork again " – is for tinned food and fuel for Father Mulcahy's orphanage. I just need to make sure he doesn't know it's from me – us."

She put an arm across his shoulders and ran a finger down the side of his face. "You can really be very sweet, when you get down from your ivory tower, can't you?" 

He smiled up at her, his eyes twinkling. "Don't tell anyone will you? I have a reputation to protect."

*          *          *          *          *

**December 23rd 1953**

"So," said Charles, adjusting his bow tie in the hall mirror, "I am all dressed up, without the first idea where we are going. When are you going to enlighten me?"

"I told you, it's a surprise," she said, slipping into the fur coat the butler was holding for her, and taking Charles' arm as they walked out to the car, "For Christmas. Come on."

She refused to be drawn further till the car pulled up outside his favourite restaurant. 

"You're buying me dinner?" he said, as he helped her out of the vehicle. "How very... liberated of you!"

"That's not the surprise," she said, as they went inside, "He is."  She pointed across the room to a young man chatting to Honoria at their favourite corner table. 

Charles stared. "David? David Sheridan?"  He turned to Ellie, his delight written on his face. "How did you...?"

"Find him? Took a bit of detective work, starting with a phone call to Crabapple Cove to enlist some help from your friends. Then Honoria volunteered to look after him here this evening while I fetched you."  She stretched up to kiss him. "Happy Christmas, Charles. I know it's not for a few days yet, but David has to fly back to Washington in the morning, to spend the holiday with his parents."

He took her hand, squeezed it gently. "Thank you, Ellie. I think that may be the nicest Christmas present I've ever had. Shall we go say 'hello'?"

"Hey, Major, great to see you again," said David, jumping to his feet and theatrically stamping his left leg, "See - good as new, just like you promised!"

"It's not 'Major' any more, David – thank God," said Charles, shaking the other man by the hand, "My name's Charles."

"Emerson Winchester. I remember." David smiled as they got seated. "I'm not likely to forget the man who saved my leg _and_ my sanity."

"I'm just sorry I couldn't do more for your hand," said Charles. 

"Oh, I manage pretty well with it really," said David, "I took your advice – managed to get myself a post as director of music at the Lafayette Philharmonic. Been there for over a year now."

"Congratulations."

"He's been composing too," said Honoria, "W...What was it you called that p...piece you wrote for yourself, David?"

"_Study for the left hand and three fingers_," he replied, with a grin. "Ravel it isn't, but it's a start. I'm working on a piano concerto too," he added, "I thought it might be – I don't know, _cathartic_? – if I tried to get the war somehow set down in music." He sighed. "Trouble is, I just can't get the third movement right.  At least – I haven't got it right _yet._ But I will." He looked across at Honoria and smiled. "All I need is the right inspiration."

**_To be continued_**... 


	5. If music be the food of love

**Christmas Eve, 1953**

Snow crunched under the tyres as Charles halted the car by the orphanage gates. He pulled his hat down and his collar up against the cold as he climbed out, fetched the hamper of Christmas groceries from the trunk, and lugged it up the drive to the doorway. Lowering it as carefully as he could to the doorstep, he straightened slowly, one hand holding his back, and wondered how he'd managed to avoid doing himself a permanent mischief - groceries were a darned sight heavier than candy bars! Maybe he should have taken Ellie up on her offer to come and help - still, too late now, and he had managed it anyway.

As he trooped back to his car, head down against the wind, he almost collided with someone coming in through the gate.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I... dad!"

"Charles! Uh... I saw the car but... is it new?"

"Yes. There's more room in back of this one for Beth's things."

"Oh. Yes of course. Well - I was just..." His father hefted a package labelled 'Wallingford and Chadwick', and Charles smiled as he realised the orphans would be getting their chocolates as well as their dinners from the Winchesters this year.

"Well, I left them some groceries, so I'm sure they'll enjoy those too," he said. "Is mother not with you?"

"She's got a cold," said his father, "And I expect I'll be getting it next, coming out in this. Are _you_ alright?"

"Yes, I'm... we're fine," said Charles, suspecting the enquiry was aimed at more than his health. "I left Ellie wrapping presents, though God knows there seems to be a room full of them already, and they're all for Beth! By the way, thank you for yours."

His father cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, muttered something that might have been 'you're welcome'. "Just make sure your mother doesn't know I sent them," he added.

Charles grinned. "Thank her for the ones she sent too, would you?" he said.

"What...? You mean your mother...?"

He nodded. "You both sent her presents," he said, putting his hands under his armpits in an effort to keep them warm. "We... uh... sent yours with Honoria."

"They're under the tree," said his father, "Thanks."

They stood looking at one another for a moment, while the words they groped for dropped unsaid into the snow. 

"Merry Christmas, dad," said Charles, eventually, turning to walk back to his car.

"Merry Christmas, Charles," he heard his father call after him, "And... I'll give your mother your message!"

*          *          *          *          *

**January 1954, Boston Mercy**

Eleanor unstrapped Beth from her pushchair and hurried into the hospital. Taking the lift to the third floor, she stepped into the corridor leading to Charles' office. She knew she should have phoned first to see whether he was even around, but she'd been so excited by David Sheridan's letter that she hadn't stopped to think, wanted only to find Charles and tell him what it said.

"Hi, Miss Walters," she said, finding the secretary typing up some shorthand notes, "Is my husband around?"

"Mrs Winchester - come in. Hi, Beth, honey, would you like a cookie?" Conjuring one from the drawer of her desk, Miss Walters stood up and handed a biscuit to the child, told Ellie to go through to the main office. "Doctor Winchester's doing rounds at the moment, but he should be back momentarily," she said, "He does have an operation scheduled in forty minutes though."

"Oh, I won't keep him long," said Ellie, settling herself onto the comfortable leather sofa in Charles' office and taking Beth's coat off before lowering her to the floor.

"Can I get you a coffee while you're waiting?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

She didn't have to wait long. Beth had barely had time to drop crumbs over more than a couple of square feet of carpet before Charles came in, looked from Ellie to the baby. "Hello! Ugh, Elizabeth darling, don't rub it into the pile..." 

Chuckling, Beth crawled toward him and he picked her up, grimaced at the mess she'd made. 

"Sorry, Charles – I don't know how she manages to spread so much over such a large area in such a short time. Miss Walters only gave her the cookie a few minutes ago." Ellie fished out her handkerchief and stood up to wipe Beth's sticky hands and face as best she could. 

"Daddy!"  Beth beamed at Charles, patted his cheek, and he planted a loud kiss on hers, the crumbs on his carpet obviously already forgiven. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his question presumably addressed to Ellie, though his gaze was fixed on Beth as he gently brushed his fingers over her wispy copper curls while she made a grab for his tie.

"David's written." Ellie pulled an envelope from her bag as she spoke, and waved it excitedly. "He's finished his concerto – and Charles, he's asked me to play it. _Me_!" She wasn't sure he would be as delighted about it as she was, but she could see by his face that he was pleased.

"You mean – the premiere performance?" he said. "Ellie, that's wonderful (no, sweetie, don't eat daddy's tie, give it me back...'k you) but... it's quite a responsibility. Are you sure you want to take that on?"

"Are you kidding?" She paced about, too excited to stand still for long. "Charles, I'm never going to get another opportunity like this! To play at Symphony Hall, prove what I can do, earn some honest money of my own..." She flung her arms wide, "Boy, I'm not letting this one go!"

"David wants the premiere here then? Not in Washington?"

She nodded, unfolded the letter. "There's more. Charles – he says he's going to dedicate it to you. To thank you for what you did for him."

"Well, I'm not sure that I deserve..."

"Whoa! Modesty from Charles Emerson Winchester the Third? I'll have to make a note in my diary!" She smirked, held out the letter for him to take, while she relieved him of Beth, who immediately fretted to be passed back to her father. "No, darlin', let daddy read his letter."

He scanned through it, stared up at her, frowning. "How did he know about...?"

"The Chinese musicians?" She shook her head. "I don't know, Charles, he didn't get it from me. Must have been Honoria, I guess, while she was waiting with him."

"You told Honoria about that?"

"Course I didn't! I haven't told anyone! But she ain't stupid, Charles..."

"_Isn't_ stupid."

"_Ain't_ stupid – stupid!" she said, firmly. "How many of your friends from the 4077th did she talk to at the wedding?"  She read both dawning understanding and an apology in his glance, shrugged acceptance. "It doesn't really matter how he found out, does it? If it was what he needed to finish it?"

"I suppose."  He folded the letter, took Beth back while she replaced the envelope in her bag. "I'm just not sure..." He held Beth close and gently kissed her. "It was bad enough living through it – I don't know if..."

"If you could listen to a musical interpretation of it?"

He nodded. "I can only promise to try."

"I know. It's okay."  She closed her bag and picked up Beth's coat. "We don't have to discuss it now anyway – I don't even have the music yet to start practicing!"  She pulled on her own coat, helped the baby into hers and stood on tiptoe to give Charles a kiss. "You've got things to do – we'll get outta your way. C'mon, little lady, let's go – we'll see daddy later."

"I might be late," said Charles, opening the door for her and giving Beth a wave. He paused just long enough for Ellie to notice the amusement in his eyes before he smiled and added: "I won't be allowed out of here tonight till I've cleaned the carpet!"

*          *          *          *          *

**March 1954, Symphony Hall, Boston**

"Ohh, where _is_ he? He promised he'd be here."  Ellie paced around the dressing-room, nervously twisting her wedding ring, and glancing at the clock every couple of seconds. She could hear the symphony drawing to a close, knew there were only minutes until the conductor would come to lead her out onto the platform to begin the premiere of David Sheridan's _Korean_ concerto.

But there was still no sign of Charles. 

She knew he'd been unsure whether he could sit through the piece she was about to play, but he'd promised he would be there somehow. No – not promised. He'd given his word as a Winchester, which she knew – had thought – meant more to him then a mere promise.

David Sheridan, sitting on the chair in front of the dressing-table, looked almost as nervous as she felt, but he muttered something kindly about Charles probably being kept late at the hospital – then glanced at his own watch, which made her feel even worse. 

The applause for the symphony began, and Ellie checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. 

"David, you should go up to the VIP box now – don't wait for Charles, he's obviously not coming," she said, trying hard not to let her disappointment spill over into her voice and not quite succeeding. "Go on – I'll feel better if I know you're there at least."

"You'll be fine." He stood up to leave and gave her a comforting pat on the arm. "And I'm sure Charles will be here soon." He gave her a wink. "Go knock 'em dead, kid."

She managed a smile. "I'll try."

He opened the door to go, found the conductor about to knock on it. "She's ready, Mr Munch."

The Boston Symphony's music director held out his arm for her to take, and Ellie took it, stepped into the corridor and took a single pace toward the stage entrance.

"_Ellie!_"

She turned, overjoyed, almost unbelieving, at the sound of that voice. "Charles?"

He was in his scrubs underneath his topcoat, breathless it seemed from running, and there was no time for him to do more than gasp "Go! Play!" at her. But he didn't need to. He'd kept his promise. Now she could go and keep hers.

-

Charles watched her go, heard the applause as she stepped on to the stage, took a moment to lean against the corridor wall and get his breath back. Today of all days he had to get called in to surgery at the last possible minute. And then, having done the difficult work in a time that would have been a record even at the 4077th, and handed over to one of the Residents to finish up, he'd discovered he had no time to change. To top it off, his damn cab had gotten stuck in traffic and he'd had to get out and run – _run!_ – the last half-mile.

From the times he had visited his mother in the dressing-room during her concerts, he remembered that there was a phone and a shower in there. He placed a quick call to his home to order up his evening wear, and took a quick shower while he waited for his driver to bring his tuxedo.

Hastily making himself presentable, he made it into the VIP box for the start of the second movement, whispering an apology to David.

He took a glance at the Programme Honoria handed to him, smiled at sight of Ellie's full name at the top of the centre page. When he'd walked her to the USO truck in the MASH compound, and told her he looked forward to seeing her as guest soloist at Symphony Hall, he certainly hadn't dreamed that she'd be billed there as 'Eleanor Carlyle Winchester'. At least she wasn't disgracing the name – far from it. As Ellie's fingers flew from one end of the keyboard to the other, counterpointing with the orchestra and moving up from _allegro_ to _presto_, he realised he had underestimated just how talented she was. 

In the brief pause between movements, Honoria leaned forward and murmured, "She's as good as mother." 

"No," said Charles, quietly, with a shake of his head, "She's better."

He took another quick look at the Programme, found a paragraph David had written, explaining that the First Movement set the stage with a threatening, martial tone, while the Second Movement had a more lighthearted flavour, to reflect the camaraderie and friendships that were forged amid the chaos of battle. _'But as the movement draws to a close'_ he read, '_the recurring notes played by the pianist's left hand foreshadow the more sinister quality of the Third Movement. The repeating notes continue throughout this, representing a pulse, which increases in pace as the music above it grows more threatening. There are echoes of the 'Mozart quintet for clarinet & strings' here, an acknowledgment of the piece taught to the Chinese musicians by Dr Charles Emerson Winchester III (see note on page 2). Their death is played out by the timpani and cymbals, the movement finishing with a Rallentando, while the notes of the left hand slow to a stop._'

Charles bit his lip, as the memory of his dying flautist flashed into his mind again, and as the Third Movement started, he had to will himself not to get up and leave, telling himself that he owed it to David, to Ellie – and most of all to those POWs – to sit through it. As the movement progressed, he found himself lost in admiration for the way David had managed to capture events with his music. Distant gunfire rumbled from the percussion; the horns and trombones conveyed the beat of helicopter blades, the strings screamed – and the flute, clarinet, and Ellie's right hand echoed Mozart, while the persistent, steady notes played by her left hand were – just as the Programme said – reminiscent of a human pulse. It was brilliantly conceived, and just as brilliantly played. When Ellie brought the piece to a close with that pulsing left-hand beat slowing and fading to nothing, the concert hall was silent for what seemed like minutes. Then, as Ellie brushed her hand against her cheek, and Charles realised that she'd been overcome with emotion too, the applause started, and the audience rose to their feet, cheering. 

"Charles, look."  Honoria touched his arm, nodded in the direction of the Winchester box. He could see that his parents were on their feet, applauding along with everyone else, and he closed his eyes in sheer relief. 

The conductor exited, returned with a huge bouquet for Ellie, who shook hands with the first violinist before curtsying to the audience again. 

"She's quite something, your wife," said David, slapping Charles on the shoulder before heading for the stairs down to the stage to take his own curtain call.

"Yes," said Charles, suddenly unable to tear his eyes from Ellie, "Yes, she is."

-

Telling his sister that they would see her and David at the restaurant, Charles went to see if Ellie was ready to go. As he closed the dressing-room door behind him, she turned from the mirror and jumped to her feet, throwing her arms around his neck. "Did you run all the way from the hospital?" she asked.

He had forgotten about that already. "Not quite," he said, holding her tight, "But it would have been worth it even if I had. Eleanor, I am so proud of you."

"Were you okay? You didn't have to go out?"

"I was determined not to. And you played so well."

"I couldn't believe it when I saw you standing there in your scrubs!"

"I promised I'd be here, didn't I? Ellie, I..." He pulled back a little, just far enough so that he could look down into her eyes for a moment, before he leaned down to kiss her. Just as his lips touched hers, there was a loud knock on the dressing-room door.

"Ignore it," he murmured.

"Mmm, what, and disappoint my public?" she murmured back, her mouth hovering tantalisingly close to his.

He kissed her again. "You're starting to sound like me," he smiled, softly. 

Whoever was knocking was not about to give up easily, and Charles released Ellie with a sigh. "You sit down. I'll get it," he said, pulling the door open. "M...Mother!" he exclaimed, when he saw who was standing outside, "Dad! Uh...come in."

"We won't stay, Charles," said his mother, stepping into the room in a swirl of silk and Chanel, "But we couldn't go without..." She paused, scrutinizing him as though he had just come out of school with his socks round his ankles and his tie undone. "You've lost weight." She didn't sound approving.

"A little, yes. Comes of eating proper food, instead of having to live off Cherry cake and canned sardines from food parcels."

"Hmm."  His mother adjusted the fur wrap across her shoulders, and turned to Ellie, who had stood up again as soon as she realised who it was. "Well... that was a marvellous performance... Eleanor."

"And an exceptional piece of music," added Charles' father. "Charles..." He held up his copy of the programme, "I know you tried to tell us, son, but really – we had no idea..."

"We'd like you both to come have tea with us some time soon," said his mother, "And perhaps you'd bring Elizabeth?"

Charles glanced questioningly toward Ellie, saw her nod tentatively, almost imperceptibly. "It's Beth's birthday in ten days," he said, "Maybe you'd like to come to her party?"

It was his parents' turn to exchange glances. "Yes, darling, very well," said his mother, "So long as it's not Thursday – that's my Bridge afternoon."

"It's Wednesday, mother, the 24th," said Charles, dutifully kissing the cheek she presented for him to kiss, "And I remember about the Bridge."

"We'll let you get on then," she said, "Eleanor's probably ready for something to eat, I know I always am after a concert."

They swept out, and Ellie dropped into her chair, her sigh of relief matching Charles' own as he shut the door. "I suppose that's the nearest either of us is ever going to get to receiving an apology from them?" she said.

"Um...well, yes, probably," he admitted, sheepishly, trying (and failing) to remember the last time his parents had actually directly apologised for anything. 

"I can't begin to imagine what they'll make of the sort of party I've got planned," said Ellie, "There's likely to be jelly and cake flying everywhere!"

"Sounds like dinner in the mess tent," laughed Charles. "Come on, I told Honoria and David we'd meet them in the restaurant. They'll be wondering where we've got to."

*          *          *          *          * 

Their meal, and the lively discussion that went with it, went on until well after midnight, but Ellie was still as keyed up as ever when she and Charles got home.     __

"I know I should be tired," she said, skipping into the music room, "But I feel like I could dance all night – once I take these shoes off!"  She dropped onto the sofa and kicked off her high heels, giving each foot a quick massage as she did so. 

"It's all that adrenaline," said Charles, touching her shoulder on his way past to the record player, "Same thing that used to keep us operating for sixty hours."

Selecting a record from the racks, he checked it for scratches and dusted it before putting it on the player and switching it on. 

Ellie stared at him, amazed. "Charles - that's Mozart!"

"Yes. Well, _Eine Kleine Nacht Musik_ seems fitting," he replied, crossing the room to stand in front of her. "You said you wanted to dance?"  He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, began a gentle waltz around the furniture. "While I was watching you play this evening I realised something," he said, quietly, resting his cheek against her hair. "All those concerts we've been to, all the records we've listened to and talked about – I'm not sure I would have been able to do all that if I hadn't had someone to share it with. Someone to...help me get through it."  He pulled away from her slightly, his eyes meeting hers as she looked up at him, questioningly. "You've given me back my music, Ellie, don't you see? You've played for me, been there for me - given me good memories to help me deal with the bad ones.  And... I'm sorry, I should have figured this out a long time ago." He stopped dancing, but didn't let her go. "This evening I finally realised..." He looked toward the ceiling. "Oh, why is this so hard to say?  I suppose I haven't had much practice..." His gaze met hers again, and he said the next words in a rush: "Eleanor, I've fallen in love with you."

She felt strangely lightheaded suddenly, and clutched his lapels for support, ducking her head so that he wouldn't see the tears she found herself having to blink away. She knew she had a crazy smile on her face, but with her breath taken away like that she found she couldn't speak.

"Ellie?" 

She could hear the doubt in his voice, the wondering whether he had upset her in some way, and she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. "If you knew how long I've waited to hear you say that," she whispered, "I love you so much."

His arms tightened around her, and she could feel the passion in his kisses as his mouth sought hers again. 

"I love you," he murmured.

And Mozart's _night music_ played on.

**_THE END _**_(unless there's demand for a sequel!)_


End file.
